


In the pale moonlight

by StormXPadme



Series: Tales Untold [2]
Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Anal Sex, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, BDSM, Bisexual Male Character, Blood Loss, Blood and Torture, Casual Sex, Congenital Insensitivity to Pain, Creampie, Cutting, Depression, Desk Sex, Eating Disorders, F/M, Fate & Destiny, Friends With Benefits, Gags, Haldir lives, Healers, Helm's Deep, Humiliation, Huorns, Hurt/Comfort, Jealousy, Knifeplay, Library Sex, Limbo, Lothlórien, M/M, Mearas, Medical Procedures, Memory Alteration, Mental Link, Near Death Experiences, Oral Sex, Poisoning, Post-Battle of the Hornburg | Battle of Helm's Deep, Power Play, Rape/Non-con Elements, Restraints, Rivendell | Imladris, Rohan, Sailing To Valinor, Sea-longing, Self-Harm, Semi-Public Sex, Separations, Survivor Guilt, Telepathic Bond, Third Age, Torture, Twins, Verbal Humiliation, Villain Character Death, Whipping, based on movies and books except for the Hobbit movies, black Mearas, part time boyfriends with more issues than imladris daily, the epic tale of Aragorn being done with the whole family Oropherion's shit, you can pry librarian!Erestor from my cold dead hands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-06
Updated: 2020-01-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:28:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 23,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22144882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StormXPadme/pseuds/StormXPadme
Summary: After the battle of Helm's Deep, Legolas leaves the fortress to be alone for a few hours. A big mistake ...
Relationships: Aragorn | Estel & Legolas Greenleaf, Aragorn | Estel/Arwen Undómiel, Arwen Undómiel & Glorfindel, Erestor/Glorfindel (Tolkien), Gimli (Son of Glóin) & Legolas Greenleaf, Legolas Greenleaf/Original Female Elf Character(s)
Series: Tales Untold [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1559689
Comments: 34
Kudos: 28





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Cover: http://racoonicorn.myartsonline.com/itpm.jpg
> 
> This is a translation of part #2 of one of my longest finished German fanfiction series (https://www.fanfiktion.de/s/45a112130000161f06700fa0/1/Tales-Untold-IN-THE-PALE-MOONLIGHT-2-). I am not a native speaker and apologize for any mistakes. The "Tales Untold"-series focuses much on Aragorn, Legolas and their respective relationships, but there's lots of other important plot lines coming into play, one of the biggest revolving around Glorfindel and Erestor.
> 
> The series combines the book verse with some circumstances from the movieverse, it ignores all of three of the Hobbit movies though (I wrote most of this series before those movies even were a thing). It's slightly non-compliant in places but I'm always trying to keep close to canon.
> 
> "In the pale moonlight" is set during the War of the Ring. And yeah, I'm team "Helm's Deep Movie Version But Haldir Didn't Die" all the way.
> 
> Comments are more than welcome. I'm thirsting for them like so many others.
> 
> WHAT HAPPENED SO FAR:  
> Legolas fell in love with a young healer elf from Lórien about a 1000 years ago. After a long wait, in which Tarisilya had a little flirt with Erestor, Legolas and Tarisilya finally got together and betrothed around T.A. 3000. Due to King Thranduil's aversion against the realm, the relationship is a secret for now.

_T.A. 3019_

**_I_** _f you had listened to me for a change, you'd know that I didn't ask you to give up your love with even one word. On the contrary. I warned you not to risk your life, if you don't want to lose it again after all this waiting._

_Someone who is not ready to die for his duty, has no place in battle._

_If we all are to see this world renewed … Then maybe a few things will be different_

_I can't do this anymore._ Come with us _!_

_I don't want to hurt you anymore. Don't wait any longer, not another day. You two don't belong here anymore._

_That much is true. More than you know._

"Hey, Master Elf! Daydreaming again?"

A rude nudge and Gimli's cheerful voice woke Legolas from his thoughts. Confused, he looked up. How long had he been sitting here?

He'd completely forgotten the time. Originally, he'd planned to just rest here for a few minutes, by the edge of some the shattered pinnacles of Helm's Deep, with his eyes not fixed on the east for once, on the ongoing threat there, but turned to the direction where his home was located. Mirkwood – and another elven realm, he had only been allowed to enter one single time so far. One just as unreachable for his kind as the fortress of the Dark Lord. Only his heart was being drawn to Lórien for nearly a thousand years. Ironically, he'd probably come closer to Mordor than he had ever planned before he would ever be Lady Galadriel's guest again.

A little stiff after kneeling for quite a while, he got up. "What is it?"

"What kind of question is that? Let's go! A feast, ale! Songs and dance!" Gimli gave him a playful pat on the back. "What's wrong with you? We have just won the first great battle! What's with the long face?"

After all those long weeks of fear, Legolas couldn't bring himself to spoil the dwarf's glee.

But could Gimli not _see_? Could none of those men busy with enthusiastically hugging one another and chanting songs of victory, see the destroyed walls of their refuge that more and more dead and injured where carried to? So many men … but also far too many elves. Among them, the marchwarden captain whose leniency and foresight had only made the Fellowship's rest in Lórien possible in the first place. His struggle for survival would probably not be the only one lost before dawn even broke.

"Go back to the others." Legolas took off his coat and quickly started getting rid of the armor he'd been persuaded to wear for the battle, relieved to shed the restrictive heavy metal. It smelled too much of smoke, of fire, of blood. "There's lots to do left. We can celebrate afterwards."

And maybe he would actually do the latter, tomorrow. But for now, he needed as much solitude as possible. Since he couldn't find that on the roof for five minutes - and not in this building either, not in the foreseeable future, if he read the searching look on Aragorn's face in the distance right -, he had to look for an alternative next chance he got.

"Legolas, what do you think you're doing?"

_Almost_. Thanks to the chaos after their return from Isengard and with his hood pulled low over his face, Legolas had almost made it to cross the unsurfaced path leading out of Helm's Deep without attracting anyone's attention. And then, of course, the one voice he wanted to hear least right now, had to address him. "I will be back soon."

"Are you _trying_ to get yourself in danger? We might have destroyed most of the enemies, but there's still some very angry creatures of darkness on the loose out there." Aragorn cut Legolas off before he could urge Arod into a trot to escape the unavoidable discussion. "This is not the time for retreating in grief."

"That's easy for someone to say who deals with it on a daily basis, Aragorn. I'm not quite there yet." Legolas rarely raised his voice to anyone so harshly. Aragorn and him had been sharing a deep friendship for many years. Legolas' respect for the endless strength the man showed in this war, earned Aragorn his unreserved support, even though they didn't always agree on everything. But Legolas had never felt so misunderstood by him before.

Sure, he could have gone to some empty room, find a lonely place in the cellars – provided something like that even existed in the fortress right now. Only that wouldn't make anything better. A Secondborn who had never heard the comforting voice of the woods after a grueling battle, probably couldn't relate. Not even when he'd been raised by elves and was in love with one of them.

" _On a daily_ …?" Angrily thrusting his jaw forward, Aragorn clearly had to hold back from flaring up himself. "Do you seriously think, you get used to this at some point? Do not claim the right to feel guilty after a costly fight for yourself. In war, people die. That's both the fault of all of us and no one's fault."

Stepping closer, he reached out to rest his hand on Legolas' arm, but the scathing look bestowed on him quickly made him back off. "You can't just leave. We need you. If something happens to you …"

"Nothing will happen. I can take care of myself." Legolas just got Arod going so Aragorn had to step aside to avoid being run down. He only stopped for another lame attempt of explaining himself, without turning his head though.

"I'm not saying you don't care, Aragorn. I know you too well for that. But you've been in many battles like this. Maybe you learned how to move on like nothing happened. You'll have to be a little more patient with me in this regard. Me, I'm the only one of my people chosen by fate to be on this journey from the start. Ever since we left Imladris, I have a responsibility not only towards my folk but towards this world as well, that as a friend of Men I imposed on myself. Now countless people are dead. Even Firstborn fell. Marchwardens, elves who committed themselves to the only purpose of protecting us. In one single conflict, I failed to do the same for them. I'm not willing to celebrate that. If you can't comprehend that, at least don't get in my way."

He quickly spurred Arod to a gallop.

Aragorn silently watched his friend leave with his shoulders slumped. He _could_ have stopped Legolas. In fact, one order would have been enough. Legolas felt much too obliged to follow him to ignore one.

And that was exactly why he wouldn't keep him from being alone if there was no other way for Legolas to deal with his pain. In the guilt about one fatal, inaccurate shot that plagued him so much, he hadn't even realized how much his premature, shallow evaluation had really hurt Aragorn. They could talk about that later. For now, Aragon would grant him his wish, no matter how much anxiety it caused him.

"That's not a good thought." Gimli came up from behind him to stare at Arod's faint bright shape in the distance, slowly shaking his head.

"Most enemies were killed by the Huorns. He'll handle the rest if they still dare to attack after what's happened here." Aragorn strode back into the building.

"You should have stopped …"

"What exactly do you think I just tried?" The reproach was enough to ruin the tedious restraint, Aragorn had held on to during that whole conversation with Legolas. "If you want to give it a try, knock yourself out; there's horses over there."

"It's alright." Gimli raised his hands in surrender and dropped down on a boulder outside the gate. "I'll wait here until he comes back."

"Thank you." Aragorn paused. Wait here, for hours maybe, where it would soon be cold and uncomfortable? It was really astonishing, how close Gimli and Legolas had become. "Forgive me, friend."

Gimli put him off. "We are all tired."

Aragorn gave him a thankful smile before hurrying back to the others. King Théoden, Éomer and Mithrandir were waiting to discuss the next steps. His stubborn elvish friend, he would have to worry about later.

Belatedly, he realized he should have made Legolas put on his armor again at least. Aragorn knew of course how much the elf hated metal plating limiting his athletic archery maneuvers. But helplessly watching a Haradrim blade pierce his torso and fear for his life for weeks once, had actually been more than enough for a lifetime. Sighing, he pushed that worry aside as well.

Legolas had traveled Middle-earth without armor for millennia. An afternoon more or less would hopefully not make a difference. Besides, ever since their captivity back then, he had trained his close combat skills with Glorfindel in Imladris systematically, for a few weeks almost every year. And Aragorn and him had engaged in one or two training sessions in Legolas' lands as well. By now, Aragorn didn't trust his life only to Legolas' bow anymore. He just had to hope that after all this time, his companion had really learned how to take care of himself.

"Face it, we're lost. These woods never end. We're never getting home." Merenc sank onto a withered tree stump and tightened a dirt-stained cloth around his swollen left arm, with gritted teeth. "We're going to croak here, just like the others."

"Shut your face," Karas growled. Wasn't it bad enough to lose your whole unit, your dignity and damn near your leg? No, here he was, damned to deal with a babbling, panicky kid on top. He had half a mind to leave the boy behind. But if someone found out about that somehow, the other Dunlendings would have a reason to not take him back, in spite of his courageous battle against these unspeakable Rohirrim. Always protect your younglings. After all, the army needed new blood.

"We weren't as stupid as the others who ran into the woods too early. We're possibly the last men to brave these stinking raiders in Helm's Deep and survive. We will not go down whining, got that? We'll be back in the next battle and get our revenge for this disgrace. And iven if we _should_ die …" Karas lovingly caressed the filthy, bloodstained handle of his sword, and the bow that he'd taken off a dead orc. "Then we'll take at least a few more of them with us."

"Wish I had your optimism."

Resignedly, Merenc searched the pockets of his tatty pants for some leftover ration but paused when they heard quiet hoof beats on the wooden path nearby. "Karas."

"Quiet." Falling to the ground, Karas crept behind a bush and curiously watched the stranger slowly approaching them. "A man. No, wait." He turned his head, grinning in triumph. "That's an elf."

"An elf all the way out here, all alone?" Merenc's bad mood vanished immediately. "How careless. Do you think he'd like some company?"

"You bet your ass. Silence now, they have sharp ears."

But this one seemed to be either deaf or distracted as Karas noticed when he raised his bow, aiming at the slender silhouette in the distance.

The elf didn't react one bit. Maybe he _wanted_ to be found? Well, that could be arranged.

Karas straightened up a bit to avoid hitting the wrong spot by accident. What a pity that would be, if the elf died immediately. Where was the fun in that?

His knee barely nudged a twig, but as if Karas' confusion had brought the elf's senses back to life, he suddenly seemed to become mistrustful after all. Karas could see him reach back for his quiver. His eyes were fixed right on the clearing where the men were hiding.

Suddenly the horse bolted. While it did turn around, it bolted again before it finally started to run. Dumb luck, really. If it had reacted correctly, maybe the elf would have gotten away.

As it was, Karas had enough time to aim again. With a broad grin, he let go of his arrow.

Everyone knew, he was the best archer of his tribe.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the one where the torture and non-con-warnings come into play. You have been warned.

_Someone who is not ready to die for his duty, has no place in battle._

The harsh lecture resounded in Legolas' memory for the umpteenth time. Each time, the words seemed to carry more sheer scorn. For once, maybe he should have listened to his father.

Everything had felt so natural when he'd been sent to Imladris to contritely admit to Lord Elrond that Gollum had escaped, in spite of all the precautions taken by his father, by him and the Woodland Elves of Mirkwood. Thranduil had given him hope for the future back then; and Aragorn's encouragements before the Council of Elrond had kept Legolas from hesitating about joining the Fellowship of the Ring for even a second. Now he wished he would have heeded his father's warnings instead, that in their last conversation, Legolas had so easily ignored. He should indeed have rode back to Mirkwood after the Council.

Or he could have stayed in Imladris, with Arwen, to support her in this difficult time. There would have been enough left there to fight for him, too.

He could even have gone to Lórien, to the elf he wanted by his side most of all, although that would probably have provoked the anger of his whole realm. Whatever his father's true opinion about his betrothal was, how much or not he even really knew about it, no matter what Thranduil had to say about the matter: At war, there was no time for change, as Thranduil liked to put it. There would at least have been another, very personal conflict to settle if Legolas wouldn't have waited for the dynamics between the two realms to change as he so much desired them to. Or maybe not. Maybe Tarisilya and him would have just sailed into the west to leave everything behind, including their ancestry. Everything would be better than keeping on bearing the darkness.

Instead, Legolas went to war for foreign countries, foreign folks now, and had to watch children die. He suddenly realized that he never wanted to return to Helm's Deep. What difference did it make if he gave up now? That his attempt to support Men was completely useless, he'd been shown quite clearly today. One bow didn't make a difference when being confronted with a superior enemy. Not even hundreds of elven bows had made a difference. Yes, Legolas had originally thought, he could contribute something to save Middle-earth when he had followed Aragorn's example, and that this quest was indeed worth risking his life.

Only his death wouldn't make sense at all. On the contrary. It would only hurt the ones he loved. His father, in spite of all their arguing. His friends at home. Arwen. And especially the one elf he'd promised eternity to. When they would meet again if something happened to him now, in which form, and how it would be then, who could really say that?

And for what? What was a bitter triumph like today's worth? Sauron would strike back. Eventually, the realms of the Free Folk, and of the Firstborn as well, would fall.

Hearing Gimli's cheerful laughter in his mind abruptly interrupted the depressing reflection. As did the memory of Aragorn's worried expression earlier. The childlike round faces of the hobbits who hadn't been asked if they could still go on, who just kept on making their way to Mordor, more courageous and selfless than many men.

Maybe there wasn't a reason for Legolas himself to stay here, but he couldn't desert his friends. Tiredly rubbing his forehead, he tried to suppress both his anger and self-doubt. He had made his decision back then, for better or for worse. Now there was no way back.

Realistically speaking, he had nowhere to go anyway; that was wishful thinking. The road to Imladris was too long and too dangerous to take alone. The enemy knew his face by now. Tarisilya was already gone as he desperately hoped, in safety, in a realm of eternal peace and happiness. His father was busy enough, countering attacks on his own realm. If Legolas succumbed to an orc blade here or in Mirkwood, probably wouldn't make ...

Arod suddenly pranced and bristled unwillingly, as if he could hear his rider's cowardly musings and wanted to protest.

Legolas patted his neck with a sad smile. "Don't worry, mellon. Not enough has happened to give up."

But today, a few whispered Sindarin words and Legolas' gentle voice couldn't calm the stallion. He grew ever more nervous.

Alarmed, Legolas straightened up and looked around, reaching for an arrow out of habit alone. He wasn't sharing Aragorn's overanxiousness about the odd enemy lurking close by but …

"Enough exercise for one day." He was feeling jittery after a way too long night, that was all. As much as he'd longed for silence earlier, the one right here was a bit _too_ deafening. It provoked too many thoughts about death. Deaths of orcs and Uruk-hai, sure, who deserved to die, without a doubt. But deaths of men also, who had simply been seduced by foul voices, the way it could happened to every Rohir, to every Gondorian just as well. Maybe celebrating with the others to forget about all that at least for a while, wasn't such a bad idea after all.

A little rougher than necessary, Legolas pulled Arod's reins to get him to turn whereupon the animal bolted in protest. After an admonishing tap of his heels on Arod's sides, the stallion started to trot.

The well-known, whistling sound of an arrow, a noise so quiet that only elven ears noticed it from a distance already, promptly made Legolas realize how distracted he'd really been for a few minutes.

And now it was too late to flee. He hectically leaned aside, already sensing that he wouldn't make it quickly enough to duck. Before he had even finished the thought, he lost balance because something tore into his right shoulder like an angry predator, and the violent twitch of his body had Arod bolt one more time. Compromised for a split second from the sickening pain, he made the wrong decision instead of the right one and slipped to the ground to clumsily roll away. It was an instinctive move more than anything, to avoid getting tangled in the saddlery that was so unfamiliar for an elf, and that could have caused the horse to trip and fall with him.

Before Legolas could get up and try to calm Arod down, the stallion reared in fear and ran off as more arrows closely buzzed his body by.

Which meant, Legolas had just set a new record of making stupid mistakes in combat situations today.

A rude curse in the language of his people on his lips, he tediously pushed himself up on his left arm. Blood poured over the right one and his back, much of it, as he realized immediately. But he couldn't care about that right now. In spite of the agony, he managed to stand up somehow and unsheathe one of his daggers, ready to face the next attack that was doubtlessly right upon him. As quickly as possible, he tried to reach the protection of the next cluster of trees.

His legs didn't carry him farther than a few feet before the throbbing burn of the arrow head in his flesh and quickly growing dizziness brought him to his knees again. Poison, of course, the poison clinging to most of Mordor's weapons … His dagger fell from his hand as he reached back, his sight blurring already. He had to get this thing out of his body, right now …

His strength failed him before he could try. Legolas fell forward when the veil before his eyes became thicker. More arrows that he would helplessly be exposed to now, never came. Either the enemy, whoever it was, had run out of ammunition – or they didn't even plan to kill him. Not yet.

Legolas fell unconscious before he could finish the terrifying thought.

"Ilya!" Frightened, Tegiend bent to his twin sister when she screamed and slumped over, out of nowhere, slipping to the side in the middle of a trot. She managed just barely to hold on to the saddle, stopping the fall that would have had her under Manyala's hard hooves. Harshly grabbing the reins, which earned him a rightful bite from the mare, Tegiend signaled it to stop.

" _Stand_! What is it? What do you feel?"

Unlike him, Tarisilya had not inherited their mother's big talent for being able to very easily read others' minds, without the need of any kind of bond, something that had become so rare since language had been invented. But in the last centuries, she'd gradually developed the not only pleasant gift of feeling people close to her in her mind. One that had mostly skipped him in return. When someone she loved was in great danger, Tarisilya had sensed that more than once in the past. Never before had she seemed to be in physical pain from it though. Could it be that bad this time?

What if their father …? But Vandrin had sailed into the west already, he should long be safe from the terrors of war, waiting for them in Valinor. What if something had happened to him on the way?

Tegiend felt himself grow angry once again, seriously angry. He had _known_ this would happen! He should have accompanied Vandrin instead of taking care of his stubborn sister for months, out of some stupid sense of responsibility …

When Tarisilya turned her head, her big green brown eyes lowered with guilt, whispering a noiseless word, he let go of her shoulder immediately, with tight lips. The relief that this wasn't about their father, had a bitter aftertaste. "Not again."

"I'm sorry …" The open rejection drained Tarisilya of her last strength to sit straight. She slid down from her horse and immediately sank to the ground, her legs refusing to carry her. Hugging her knees, she quietly cried away. The moss, damp from the the last days' rain, soaked the thick, resistant fabric of her traveling gown, but she didn't even seem to feel it. "It's only because of me that we had to dwell on Middle-earth for so long. I wish I could change that, just wipe my feelings away, like the rain washes the dirt from the lands. Can't you see that? This is tearing me apart!"

"What's wrong with him this time?" Tegiend shouldn't even care. He should use the time while his sister was collapsing once more, to eat something, to gather his strength. He wasn't too happy about an additional break, but they'd left the most dangerous areas behind a few hours ago. And this steep clearing at the foot of the mountains, partly shielded them from unfriendly looks from the outside. The firs would suffice as a cover until they could continue on their way to the grey ship that would take them away from here. Away from the war, away from death and away from the few elves who were still foolish enough to stay.

Also away from a certain elf who kept Tarisilya prisoner with her love for him. Who had gone to war with the Free Folks, out of a misunderstood sense of obligation, pride and combativeness.

And not only as part of a last despaired alliance in Rohan, like some of their people, including some of Tegiend's former marchwarden mates. An alliance that had probably made many soldiers pay the highest price possible for their compassion already. Among them, if Tegiend was very unlucky, his former captain who also happened to have been his closest friend for centuries.

After this foreseeable catastrophe, the other Firstborn in the last elven realms would hopefully know better than to strive for such alleged heroic deeds. This was not their battle.

Legolas though … Legolas had already been exposing Tarisilya to pain for months, whenever his reckless behavior exacted its toll once more. Since the war had started, Tarisilya's gift had shown her all the dangers the Fellowship of the Ring was facing countless times. Today, it seemed to be particularly serious, bad enough to have Tarisilya hide her face in her hands instead of answering.

Yes, Tegiend should have stopped caring long ago, but despite everything, he loved his sister too much for that. Which was why he pulled her to her feet and held her close until her tremble subsided. Their journey was far from over. He needed to make sure, her condition wouldn't turn worse than it already was, or she would possibly not even live to see the arrival. "Come, Ilya. It's alright; the horses can use some rest anyway."

That of course was a blatant lie as his stallion immediately commented with an offended bristle. But Tarisilya just nodded absent-mindedly and allowed Tegiend to lead her to a big rock nearby, dropping down on it as if someone had crushed her knee joints.

Another hour more in the ruins of these once so fertile lands made no difference at this point.

"Did he get himself into trouble again?" Tegiend finally asked when Tarisilya kept silent.

"This time it's different." The caress on her hair couldn't comfort her, she hardly even felt it. "He's dying. I saw it …" She raised her left hand where she'd been wearing a silver ring for almost 20 years now. The jewel was surrounded by a strange red light, a conformation that she didn't even need anymore.

When Lady Galadriel had given her this, she had warned Tarisilya already that she would suffer if she decided to put it on. That from that moment on, she wouldn't only vaguely sense but but know without a doubt, and feel it as well, when the one she loved was injured. The ring wasn't glowing for the first time since that day, but it never had done so that intensively.

And never before had Tarisilya felt this icy coldness in her soul that could only mean death.

"Of course he is," Tegiend replied grimly. "Just like every elf who refuses to follow the call of the Valar. Probably you should even see that positive. At least that way, you'll see him again in the west soon, and you'll be rid of his father then, too."

"How can you say that?" Shocked, Tarisilya backed away from him. "What right do we have to judge those who still have hope?"

"And where is this hope taking him?" With tears in his eyes, Tegiend grabbed her lower arms, as if he could shake this curse out of her if he tried hard enough, this spell that she had been under for almost a thousand years now. "The battle at Helm's Deep won't be the last, Ilya! And whatever you felt, whatever happened there, won't stop. He'll always keep on hurting you, some way or another. If he gave you reason at least to wait for his return! But ever since your betrothal, I have to watch him destroy you more than ever, because he still doesn't have the guts to stand by you. You think that's easy for me? I would have cut this heart out with my own sword already, if that didn't mean losing you forever."

Tarisilya knew of course that Tegiend was exaggerating – not by much though – and just sadly shook her head. "He can't be blamed any more for the feelings binding us than me. You can't hold that against him."

"I don't blame Legolas for loving you, Ilya. Only for denying himself this love, just to please his father, and thereby ruining our whole family." Tegiend seemed to think they had wasted enough time; he mounted his horse again. It took some effort to rein in Matis who obviously wanted to leave Rohan just as quickly as his owner. With a brief gesture of his hand, he prompted Tarisilya to follow his example.

No, it hadn't been an easy decision to leave Lórien now of all times, or to  pass to Isengard by so closely. Most of their way so far, they fortunately had been able to travel with the soldiers who had gone to help the Rohirrim. Lady Galadriel had still been very reluctant to let them leave, and her worries were more than justified. They needed to leave these lands behind as quickly as possible, that much was definitely true.

After saying good-bye to the others, they were too exposed in this area. And that wasn't the only reason why leaving the group had been hard, in spite of everything that had happened. Tegiend had especially hated to watch Haldir ride to Helm's Deep. But in the end, his urge to leave Middle-earth had outmatched the wish to support his comrades. Now it was up to him to take care of Tarisilya alone, just like their father had asked him back then. After serving the marchwardens for so long, he had no problem slaying a few orcs, but they shouldn't challenge their luck.

In such a tense situation, Tarisilya should better not hope for a blessing that he just couldn't give her. And yet she couldn't stop trying. "Once his destiny here is fulfilled, he will follow us to Valinor and acknowledge our relationship …"

"You seriously still believe that?" Tegiend raised his hands in helpless resignation. "He will never be able to part from this world, Ilya. And he can never break with his father by marrying a daughter of Lórien. He's not your destiny. Your destiny is that ship waiting by Mithlond."

"No." She only whispered it but once pronounced, the little word suddenly carried a lot more weight than the ongoing doubts about her decision to leave Middle-earth that Tegiend had to know everything about.

" _No_!" she suddenly screamed at him. "I'm staying!" Her energy returning, she got on Manyala's back and hastily started to head for the direction where she supposed Legolas to be now, but Tegiend's pained voice stopped her.

"So this is how it ends? You give up everything, even me?"

Sobbing, Tarisilya bent down over Manyala's neck again. Her inability to finally choose one of these two paths, all but crushed her chest. "I don't want to lose you … And I can't lose him either …"

Tegiend hesitated. For many long moments, none of them spoke.

Finally, he got Matis going, stopping next to Tarisilya's mare to pull her up. Gently grabbing her chin, he forced her to look him in the eye. "How bad is it?"

"They're hurting him," Tarisilya whispered, choked. "I can feel it, like a thousand blades stabbing me. His body, his _soul_ … I'm afraid he could give up. If he does, in that condition ... He wouldn't recover from that for eternities, Tegiend. I have to help him before his mind will be lost, but he's too far away."

Tegiend tenderly touched her forehead and her temple. "Then talk to him. I'll help. I love you more than my life, Ilya, so I overcome my hate to spare you the pain of this loss. In return, I only ask you for one thing."

"I'll talk to him." Tarisilya gratefully kissed his hand. "I'll ride to him as soon as I have stabilized his soul. It's not that much of a detour. Wait for me in the protection of the woods. No matter my decision, I'll come back to tell you first."

Tegiend put her off impatiently. He probably wouldn't allow Tarisilya to ride through half of Rohan alone.

Unlike him or her best friend Arwen, she had never learned how to fight, for the reason alone she'd been told all her life, that taking a life could damage healing abilities. But they could talk about that later. Something else definitely took priority right now.

"Le melin. Just remember that." Putting his other hand on her face as well, he used the deep connection of their souls to give Tarisilya's mind strength. To enable her to talk to the one elf of all people, whom he blamed for dragging her heart into darkness.

No matter how this new crisis would end, Tarisilya would never forget that selflessness.

"An elf off his guard. What a rare catch." All confidence aside, Karas wouldn't even have trusted himself with _such_ an excellent shot. Once they reached the spot where their victim had fallen, he took his sweet time walking around the elf a few times, ignoring Merenc's noticeable impatience. Finally, he took the elf's bow and quiver from him and carelessly threw both out of reach.

Only when the silhouette splayed on the ground seemed to wake, so quickly suddenly that the elf tried to sit up already and reached for a dagger in the grass with his healthy arm, Karas started to move.

"I don't think so." With all of his considerable strength, he kicked the elf in his back, right between his shoulder blades, so he tumbled back onto the grass with a suppressed scream.

The overwhelming feeling of power, the satisfaction of being able to hurt one of these vain bastards almost distracted Karas too much. He failed to see that the elf had reached his for his dagger again even while falling, and gotten hold of it this time. Only thanks to Merenc's warning shout, he jumped away before the blade could cut off a left leg that was scarred from the battle already.

Again, his enemy almost made it to get up, which was actually amazing, given his condition. Karas could see horror flare in his eyes when his right arm hung numbly by his side, the muscles ignoring all commands.

Understanding immediately, he grinned broadly. This was one of the pointy-eared bastards who had helped win the battle with their bows from the walls of Helm's Deep. Well, this one would never shoot an arrow again. Karas decided that he wouldn't kill him after all. He would shamelessly exploit that the poison from that orc weapon weakened the elf's body so much that he could hardly put up resistance, yes. He would play with him for a while, and rob him of the glamour that elves were so famous for. But he would let him live. Everything else would be far too merciful.

He kicked his victim again, this time aiming for his wrist. In spite of the strength he used, not more than a quiet, harmless crack could be heard when the dagger was dropped on the muddy ground again, quickly booted out of reach by Merenc. Elven bones didn't break so easily. Allegedly, that was what made torturing these people so much fun. They endured much more than mere men or women, and with intact sanity to the end no less.

"That's exactly what happens when you're careless," Karas admonished his younger mate. "Never give that scum the chance for such an attack. And to keep our new friend here from getting any more stupid ideas …" He took an old piece of rope from his belt, enjoying the already fever-darkened look on the elf's face that contained a clear hint of fear now. "Hold him down."

Grabbing the rope harder, he turned to Merenc when instead of reacting, his friend stared at the pool of blood slowly spreading on the ground, at their victim's ever weakening attempts to push himself up on a heavily trembling left arm. The young one looked a little green around the gills. "What? Want to tell me, you suddenly grew a conscience? Do I have to remind you how many of us died tonight? Wasn't your uncle one of the brave warriors who fell?"

That was all it took. Merenc's eyes were blazing hate again immediately. No longer hiding behind his matted hair but brushing it back with a jerk instead, he knelt down next to the elf. Dodging the victim's weak blow effortlessly, he braced one leg against the elf's back. Easily pinning him down with all his weight, and surely not accidentally so close to where the arrow was buried, he grabbed his lower arms, forcefully keeping them crossed.

"Not like this. To the front. Better." Karas wrapped the rope around the elf's wrists much tighter than necessary, then hauled him over to the nearest tree by it, marveling at how easy that was, how light the body of a Firstborn was. So all of these stories were true … He enjoyed every of his victim's screams, every agonized squirm, before he tied the rope around some thick limbs close to the ground.

The elf's fruitless attempts to free himself stopped immediately. Breathing heavily, with his face pressed into the ground, he was lying so motionlessly, one could almost think he'd lost consciousness again, if it wasn't for those tremors in his body, starting from his shoulder. Or for the groans suppressed with so much effort only, for the sweat soaking his clothes. And another scream when Karas kicked the projectile deeply buried in his flesh, just for good measure.

"We're attracting attention." Merenc turned a worried eye to the sky. "There's strange powers at work in this country, not only Saruman's. The enemy has scouts too."

"Good thinking." Karas took off his tattered red bandana, rolled it into a cord and nodded at Merenc, more inconspicuously than necessary considering how apathetic their victim had become.

His partner was happy enough to get his hands on the elf for a second time. By now he enjoyed it, if Karas read that fire in his eyes right. Two against one. There had been a time when this would have been a taboo. In the old days. Before the Rohirrim had infested the Dunlendings' property. Before Saruman had come.

Now the rules had changed. These days, you enjoyed every distraction from dangerous war routine you could get. Even if it was just torturing an enemy.

It would be the elf's last loud scream when Merenc yanked him up by his long gold blond hair and bent the arrow out of shape until it almost snapped, enlarging the wound it had torn.

Karas quickly knelt down before the elf and gagged him with the cloth. "Much better."

Grabbing the dagger that he'd come so dangerously close to earlier, his fingertips slowly traced the swanky ornaments of the handle. "Fascinating. Forged by big names, I suppose. The likes of you is so ridiculously proud of such unimportant things."

He slowly walked around his helplessly bound victim once more. "Not much pride left now, is it? Five minutes in the dirt and you're already a mess. I can smell your fear from here. And here I thought, your people were famous for their lack of emotion. Doesn't that count for a moment of defeat? Or is that only your weakness? What kind of elf are you?"

He made the tip of the dagger dance on the elf's jaw, forcing him to tilt his head back. "You're not like the others, are you? You are human. Scum for your own people, and for the Secondborn as well who are forced to suffer you but will never accept you as one of their own. All wise elves are fleeing from this world; only people like you refuse to go. Big mistake."

The blade slipped to the elf's neck, ensuring that every wrong move would mean death. With one abrupt, fluent flick, Karas sliced down his victim's back, leaving a bloody trail. The layers of the elf's clothes came apart; what remained, Karas tore off with his bare hands.

"Make yourself useful, kid." This, he was happy to relinquish to his eager partner. He had whipped enough people in his life, mostly younglings of his tribe in need of education. He'd never had the pleasure of seeing any of his victims' faces though.

Handing Merenc his belt, he sat down in the grass with a thrill of anticipation. Again, the red stained blade was at the elf's throat, forcing him to keep his head up frantically unless he wished to have multiply sharpened metal stuck in his throat.

Then Karas watched.

Every single strike. Every single drop of blood staining the grass. Merenc hadn't lost any of the strength in his brawny arms in the last battle, and the injury in his left seemed forgotten for the moment.

With almost every blow of the thin leather leaving a bleeding welt, it took only minutes until the ordeal wiped out every rationality and the pain filled the elf with new energy. Again and again, he reared up, a useless attempt to escape the next strike while the former still affected him. But at some point, those instinctive twitches stopped as well. The noises of pain grew ever quieter when along with his blood, life left the elf's body. His pale skin started to grey, every shine gone from the ocean blue eyes.

"Stop." Karas called himself to order just in time, remembering he didn't want to see the elf dead. Maybe he would die anyway, maybe they had gone a little too far already, but Karas wanted at least the chance of survival to remain.

Besides, it was time to leave. It wouldn't take long until someone would come looking for the elf; then Merenc and him couldn't be around anymore. In their condition and poorly armed, they stood no chance against a large group of warriors.

But first … "Leave us alone."

"What?" Merenc put his hands on his hips in protest. "What do you mean? I want to …"

"Piss off or I'll put an arrow through you too," Karas snarled at him. "Guard the path. Call me if anyone approaches." The next business was only between the elf and him. For that, Merenc was too young.

"We don't want any spectators, do we?" Karas murmured huskily when he was finally alone with his victim. "No … That wouldn't be honorable for either of us."

He hooked the dagger blade to the seams of the clothes left on the elf and started to cut again, from his narrow waist down now, careful this time to not nick any skin. "So tender …" More basic, primitive arousal mixed into the intoxication of power when a well-built body was fully bared to his eyes. Breathing heavily, Karas knelt down behind the elf as quickly as his injured thigh allowed, parting his victim's powerless legs with his knees. It was long since he had last seen something as exciting as this formerly flawless back covered in deep furrows. In spite of the growing time pressure, he could impossibly resist the temptation of tracing of a few of them with his fingertips, then with the dagger, reopening a few bleedings, which made the body beneath his tremble heavily once more.

"At night, they talk about it at the campfire." Karas impatiently ripped his pants open. "The orcs who slaughtered your people by the thousands in the last war. They say they'll do it again soon. Once Lord Sauron reigns this world, they'll come to all of your realms. They will take your wives, your elflings … and the elves, of course. Nothing as enticing, they say, as an elf lying naked before you. I say, the orcs win." Without a warning, he reached out, brutally thrusting two fingers deeply into the elf's body, scissoring them until he felt blood.

More of it dripped down his victim's back when the elf reared up a last time, a weak attempt to escape the inevitable.

Karas bent down to him, his hand deeply buried in the elf's hair, until his pointed ear was right next to his lips and Karas could moan right into it. He needed to be sure, the other would hear him – and, even more important, understand him. "Your whole life, all of your eternity, I want you to remember how it feels when people populate a country that isn't theirs. You should have chosen the right side in this war, scum."

Creaking wood and a deep hum, like a stag's, made him startle and look up, but he couldn't see anything unusual. Or rather, he couldn't see anything at all. Not even Merenc's silhouette in the distance. "Kid, that's not funny!" He tried to laugh away his short uncertainty, but something made him nervous. Ridiculous. He wasn't a child anymore, afraid to be alone in the woods … And the trees had long calmed down.

Snorting, he knelt over his victim once more to accomplish his work when that cracking sounded again, right behind him this time. "Merenc, I said …" He angrily turned his head and gasped in terror when he saw wood coming to life, sharp and pointed like arrows, all of them pointed right at him.

When he was lifted from the ground and spun around in the air, when the pain started, he spotted Merenc's mutilated body on the clearing he'd sent the youngling to, pierced by countless twigs.

It looked they couldn't go home and proudly tell what they had done after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * mellon = friend  
> * le melin = I love you


	3. Chapter 3

"He's slowing down." When Arod's wild gallop turned to a trot and he finally stopped - bristling, scared -, Aragorn reined in Brego as well. "This is where it must have happened. He won't go any further."

He forced himself to take another deep breath, to not let his worry get the better of him, as he had in the fortress earlier when Legolas' horse had shown up at the gates with reins and stirrups loose. For a moment, Aragorn had frozen in anger on himself, until Gimli had pointed out that he was wasting time.

He couldn't have stopped Legolas. It might have destroyed their friendship if he'd used violence to try, or referred to his authority. But that didn't change that he had helped expose his friend to whatever had happened here.

And an infallible intuition, choking his soul like poisoned tar, incessantly whispered to him that this something was more than his mind refused to accept just yet.

Spotting an all too well-known silhouette on dark red colored grass in the distance confirmed this suspicion faster than he was prepared for it.

His heart pounding in his chest, he steered Brego to the right, ignoring Gimli's surprised gasp at the sharp change in direction and speed. With Gimli's short arms wrapped tightly around him and his insecure seat, the dwarf nearly threw him off balance. How in the world could Legolas deal with that all the time? The incoherent musing running through Aragorn's head cut deep into a soul vulnerable after this endless night already, because the worry followed right after that Legolas might never be able take Gimli with him on Arod ever again.

"Stay here! Give us cover!" he barked at the dwarf, already dismounting, not heeding Gimli's offended protest either.

From the corner of his eyes, he made out the corpses of two Dunlendings close by, and how the men had met their end. So in spite of going back to their deep sleep, some of the remaining Huorns had noticed what had happened in their midst and tried to prevent the worst. Hopefully not too late. That these creatures unfortunately didn't have the quickest of reactions, was sufficiently known by now .

Since Aragorn wouldn't be able to keep Gimli from following him for long, he already pulled his cloak from his shoulders on the way and sank down next to Legolas' lifeless figure on weak knees. The relief that the elf was still breathing, didn't last long. He took only a moment to make sure that for now, he couldn't do much about the places he was about to hide, then he carefully spread the light grey fabric over Legolas' half naked body that was marred by countless injuries.

His hands trembled more than he could afford before conducting such a comprehensive healing, but somehow he made it to untie the cloth that had stopped Gimli and him from hearing Legolas' screams on the way. And they would have, that much was for sure. The end of this ordeal and the death of the Dunlendings could only have happened a few minutes ago. Sickness filled Aragorn when he hesitantly touched the brittle wood of the arrow buried in Legolas' shoulder, and the wide, irregular margins of the wound.

He swallowed thickly, with clenched teeth. This war hadn't lasted long enough to get used to what some men – _men_ , _his_ people, not creatures of Sauron – were capable of. He probably couldn't get old enough to ever understand how anyone could enjoy torturing another being like that, a pure and gallant one like a Firstborn no less.

Aragorn knew very well, of course, that especially in that conflict between Rohirrim and Dunlendings, the Horsemasters had originally been anything but innocent. But a time when both Sauron and Saruman capitalized on some folks' lust for revenge and murder, provided no chance to soften such hardened fronts. Right now, it was only about survival, as little as Aragorn liked having to fight his own folk. And about saving those close to him.

Actually, he didn't having much hope of talking to Legolas anytime soon. Consciousness must long have left him, thanks to the poison of Mordor alone that had turned the color of his eyes to a whitish shade. Damaging the elf's body with every passing second more, that stuff in his veins was more dangerous than all of his wounds combined.

But when Aragorn tore open the bag with healing herbs that he always had on him and bent down to his patient to stop at least the worst bleedings, he heard something. One single choked word.

Legolas' usually so warm, soft voice had lost every balanced timbre. The whisper threatened to immediately ruin all of Aragorn's hope of saving him. "Ilya …" The elf was already running a fever so high that he was hallucinating. Or maybe, after this horrible experience as it had cost many of this folk their life already, his soul was about to leave his body. His breath was barely detectable as it was.

Legolas would die before Aragorn could bring him back to Helm's Deep.

"What is it?" Slightly out of breath from a quick sprint, Gimli stopped next to him, leaning forward to brace his hands on his knees. His eyes wide open, he stared down at Legolas, at the quickly growing red spots on the cloak. "Why aren't you doing anything?"

Aragorn quickly wiped his eyes, unwilling to acknowledge the tears in them even to himself. He had healed many people in his long life, of bad wounds and often of so-called deadly sicknesses. Often enough, the situation had felt even more hopeless.

But unlike Gimli, Aragorn had seen what else these insane people had done before being stopped by the Huorns. And for many elves, that was something no healer could repair.

More than one Firstborn had been broken by an enemy violating them in the past … And the same was about to happen to this abused being in Aragorn's arms.

_He_ knew all of that, but his friends didn't. And if he tried to tell them, they wouldn't understand. They would do everything to prevent this fate. Legolas was much too important for all of them to not to try.

And Aragorn was no exception. He had been close to the elf long before the war, before all those endless night watches when Thranduil's son had warned the other members of the Fellowship from danger, and often had protected them from it single-handedly. Long before these skilled hands had shot countless arrows to save them from certain death. After their bumpy start at the beginning of the millennium, Legolas had quickly become a friend for him whose unquestioning assistance, whose humorous unshakableness Aragorn had come to appreciate on many visits to Mirkwood. And Aragorn had in turn saved him from an situation feeling inescapable before. Why not allow himself the faith that he could do so again? Legolas was one of the strongest beings he knew. Aragorn could leave nothing undone.

Forcefully chasing his resigned lethargy away, he got to work.

_For long seconds of panic, Tarisilya was certain that she was dead. Blazing light blinding her, the feeling of being torn from her body, unable to move a muscle … How could that have happened? Hadn't Tegiend and she been as good as safe? They'd been so close to finally live with their father again …_

_Only when the light faded and Tarisilya could make out the hazy shapes of golden trees, she understood. And then remembered, when she raised her hand and that, too, was hardly more than a weak, pale silhouette._

_Right … Tegiend. Tegiend helped her focus on Legolas' mind, try to make contact, like his strong hands could always shove her through impassable undergrowth. Now she was caught in a kind of dream world, in a memory that was supposed to make her search easier. It felt terrible, like entering her home as a ghost, detached from reality, without a path, without a destination …_

_Only she had one. That was why she was going through this. The pain inside was still there, just like the red light surrounding her hand. And it became ever stronger. If she paused in startled amazement now, all of this would be for nothing. Tarisilya forced herself to look around and take a few steps forward. Her feet didn't touch the ground. She indeed was in Lórien, on the clearing where she had met Legolas in the war for the first time._

_The first time for her betrothed to visit her home … While the War of the Ring had not exactly suspended certain rules, it had at least made some of them fade into the background. In that night, shortly after Mithrandir's supposed death – of which Tegiend and Tarisilya had only learned later that it had been undone –, no one had given a toss about quarrels between two elven realms. At least Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn had not._

_Tarisilya heavily doubted that she herself would suddenly have been welcome in Mirkwood in turn. There was hardly any living elf more stubborn than King Thranduil._

_Which was why she had agreed to Legolas' request, delivered by Haldir, to meet outside of Caras Galadhon. The annoyance that he still wanted to hide their relationship, even in this black night, she had suppressed somehow. She had yearned for him way too much. So she had brought herself to finally leave her talan again. For the first time since their father had departed for the west, except for the few trips late at night that she had taken with Manyala, so her mare didn't suffer from the unbearable situation too. Her voice had sounded hoarse and foreign to her own ears when talking again for the first time since saying that cruel farewell to Vandrin._

_Trembling, Tarisilya touched the huge mallorn that Legolas and her had been standing under. Her hand dipped into the bark like water. It was just as little real as anything else. This was a dead world, the past, an empty memory …_

_A screech far above her head had her look up._

_A silver glistening gull flew above Lórien in slow, sluggish circles. Tegiend was with her. He reminded her that his strength was limited and how burdening this kind of connection was for him._

I'm sorry. I'll hurry.

_Tarisilya tried to shake off her depression and stepped back. This was over. Nothing but a black mark on her soul that wouldn't go away as long as she knew Legolas to be in the middle of a war._

_In the west, she would have enough time to grieve. Now she had to care for those she still could help._

_Her betrothed probably didn't even realize how much he had hurt her back then. There had been only this one chance for a short conversation, and instead of comforting her, he had sent her off to Valinor, completely unexpectedly. He'd always had fought so grimly for her to stay with him. And all of a sudden ...  
_

_Back then, she had been angry, thinking that he was rejecting her, that he didn't want her anymore._

_After everything she had felt during the battle of Helm's Deep and especially just a few minutes ago, she now knew about the dangers that Legolas had tried to protect her from. Dangers that he had fallen victim to himself now. All the more did he need her today. She had to put herself together. Telepathy was a difficult endeavor when you were young and inexperienced. If she wanted to help Legolas, she had to actually make him listen first. Not always easy when it was about things he didn't want to hear._

_Going to the other side of the mallorn, she found a silhouette braced against the trunk there, huddled on the ground, surrounded by the same bright radiance as her body was, and free of all traces this day had left on it in real life. It was Legolas as she remembered him, clad in a silver tunic blurring with the surroundings, which only emphasized the vision's restless flicker_ _._

There is no place for you in the shadows, Thranduilion.

 _Tarisilya knelt down before the silhouette and caressed its trembling shoulders until Legolas finally raised his head, staring at her in confusion. She couldn't feel the trees or the grass beneath her feet, but when she gently rested her hand on his cheek … There was_ something _. Warmth, nearness, as if memories of Legolas' skin came to life under her fingertips._

Go back to where you came from.

Who are you?

_Legolas’ mind was too clouded already to recognize Tarisilya's voice, muffled by this unreal world, or her face in the blinding light. But in the way his eyes narrowed, in how he was straightening up a little, she noticed that part of him understood anyway._

I am your light.

_Her lips tenderly grazed his forehead. Tears streamed down her cheeks when this touch merged with her memories as well, as if it was really happening, as if after all this time of hardship, she could finally hold Legolas in her arms again._

The light in its pale and humble shape of the night. Once you promised me, you would never give up until we were united one day. It is our love that keeps you alive, Legolas. Do not throw away this gift, for then you would destroy my life as well. There is no future for us in the Halls.

_A frown darkening his face, he mistrustfully raised his hand and pushed back her hair, not more than a breeze during a quick gallop. A smile, only for a moment, before the memory gained the upper hand and he backed away to stand up._

I can't go back. I can't live like this.

You're not the first to bear such a fate. You can. You have to. I will always be with you.

_The hand she reached out to him being barely visible by now had Tarisilya realize that the clearing was drowning in darkness. Had she found the right words? Or had she taken too long to find her way? What if she had failed, what if Legolas would still give up?_

Please …

_She tried to grab him again but this time, her touch didn't reach him._

You cannot leave! You promised me! I'm waiting for you, don't you know that? Forever if I have to.

_His own form started to pale before he could answer. Apparently, his friends had found what his torturers had left of him._

_Tarisilya couldn't even tell him anymore that she was on her way to see him. She could only hope that he would answer her pleas._


	4. Chapter 4

Still crying, Tarisilya opened her eyes, looking right into Tegiend's worried face above her. "I'm fine."

Only she wasn't. Her own hoarse voice was a strange sound in this newfound reality. Almost as if this other, ghostly Tarisilya had been her real self, and she was only a bad lookalike. Maybe she was long dead? Maybe Tegiend and her had been assaulted by Saruman's orcs on their way into the west. What if all of this was only a dream in the Halls of Mandos, and in truth …

"Wake up, Ilya." Tegiend worriedly shook her and pulled her into his arms, warming her too cold body with his own. "You've been there for way too long. I should have stopped. I'm sorry."

"I am alright." This time, she said it with more conviction and returned his embrace to assure him, he had done nothing wrong.

Trying hard to shake off the short paralyzation, she meant to stand up in a haste. But all she achieved was falling right back immediately. "Help me to get on Manyala please." She rubbed her forehead in exhaustion, a headache starting to torture her. Not now. She had a long way ahead of her that needed to be covered in the shortest of times. There was no time for weakness of any kind.

"Not before you ate something." Tegiend rummaged around in his saddlebag. "No buts. Are you really that desperate to fall from your horse?"

"I can eat on the way." If Tegiend refused, Tarisilya would need to get her mare lie down to climb her back. Manyala and her had done that a few times before, usually for fun, as a trick. But it could have been so much easier. "Tegiend, please! I have to get to him …"

"You're of no use to him, collapsing by his bedside." Unwilling to compromise, Tegiend passed her a big piece of lembas, already out of its leaf-wrappings. Tarisilya's hands had been shaking too much for even such simple work for weeks already. "Eat! You think I don't know that you've been starving yourself since ada left? You think it doesn't show? You look like one of Sauron's henchmen. Even if it's just a small piece you can keep down: I'm not going on that ride with you before you have tried at least."

"You really want …?" Shocked, she looked up. Tarisilya had honestly planned to leave Tegiend in these woods where at least for the moment, nothing bad seemed to be happening. He had done so much already, and now he wanted to deal with such an enormous detour for her … "I can't ask this of you."

"You've asked things of me before that were not exactly to my liking, Ilya." A bitter smile curved on Tegiend's lips that Tarisilya had never seen on him before, at least not being directed at her. It hardened walls that had been built between them ever since Tegiend had decided to stay by her side. "I swore to ada to protect you on every of your ways here, until you finally manage to decide if you want to leave or stay. And a marchwarden of Lórien keeps his promises, unlike certain Mirkwood-elves. Now hurry up. In times of war, one should never linger in the same place for too long."

More silent tears streamed down Tarisilya's cheeks when her brother sat down a few feet away, on the same rock she had cowered on earlier, keeping an eye on the surroundings, watchful as usual. Never before had he uttered all of this so bluntly, although she had sensed of course that this was how he felt. She wished, he had picked a better time to do it. As much as his upset looks hurt her, the anger in his voice – she couldn't do anything about it.

If she didn't act now, another elf she loved with all of her heart, would die. Either of his wounds or of the coldness in his heart. Then all this would have been for nothing. Almost a thousand years of waiting, and all the things she had had to do to her father and Tegiend. And especially her love for her betrothed that had always been so strong.

Reluctantly, Tarisilya started to nibble on her first meal in days. In her head, she was already searching for a way to make part of it disappear without Tegiend noticing.

"He's coming around." Startled, Gimli looked up when Legolas' eyelids started to flutter. "We have to …"

"What? What do you suggest?" Aragorn asked gruffly. "I'm open to every idea."

Of course he had hoped as well that he would not have to do this while Legolas was awake, but he couldn't bring the elf to Helm's Deep like this. With a silent prayer, he turned his eyes to the sky and then motioned to Gimli to carefully push down on Legolas' back with his small hands. With a single clean cut, he removed the arrow head from the elf's flesh.

Even more blood stained the grass, and never would he forget this scream in his life. It would haunt him in his dreams. But Legolas was alive, still.

For a moment, his eyes were open when Aragorn turned him on his back to bandage the wound. What they expressed was the plea for forgiveness, for absolution for not listening to Aragorn earlier. Then Legolas' body went into spasm, the poison continuing to torture his cells, and the pain had him black out again.

"Tighter!" Aragorn shouted at Gimli who was wrapping a thick cloth around Legolas' right shoulder. "Tighter still! You can't do any more than damage than there already is. The bleeding needs to stop." He was shot a scathing glance, but after Gimli followed the instruction, the bandage did indeed help.

Together, they lifted Legolas on Brego, as gingerly as possible. Aragorn sat down behind him, keeping his healing herbs ready. A large part he'd already used for those first bandages. He could just hope there would be more supplies in the area surrounding Helm's Deep. "Run, boy. Run as fast as your legs will carry you!"

"Do you think he'll make it?" Once Gimli had made it to climb on Arod's back as well, they galloped back to the fortress side by side. The dwarf was more busy clinging to the saddle than anything, as usual when he was forced to ride alone, but the dangerous situation apparently helped him obtain peak performances today. At least, he didn't fall down.

"Ask me something I can answer. The poison alone could have killed him already." Too late, Aragorn realized that he kept on venting his sour mood on Gimli. "Forgive me, friend."

"Don't apologize. I'm praying for him, though I know that isn't much." Gimli's eyes were fixed on Legolas' forward-bent posture. His jaw clenching, his hands firmly grabbed Arod's mane, again and again. The hate on these Dunlendings who had committed this crime, would need an outlet soon.

"In this case, it might be more than you think."

Aragorn profoundly wished for Lord Elrond or his sons to be somewhere around in Rohan. The members of his elven family with their unparalleled healing powers maybe could have made a difference here.

There was no one else to help in this new hopeless situation. The surviving soldiers of Lórien had doubtlessly already traveled back to their woods, to once more dedicate themselves to the border security so direly necessary as of late. And the few elven healers still residing in the fortress were busy enough saving those of their people who had been wounded in the battle for Helm's Deep. Among them a captain who was one of Aragorn's oldest friends. Someone whom he had already thought lost, a premature estimation between blades and death all around him, with way too much blood on his hands.

He couldn't afford another failure like that, not while there was even a shred of hope.

"Prayers might be all he has right now."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * ada = father


	5. Chapter 5

Mithrandir immediately came to meet Aragorn outside the fortress, pushing past the shocked, whispering Rohirrim with wide gestures. Hefting Legolas' body over his shoulder effortlessly, as if this chosen body of his wasn't a year older than 20, he headed for one of the castle's few sick rooms still empty after the battle. The anger of a sun burning out glowing in his eyes discouraged anyone from even trying to address him.

Aragorn spared just a moment to give Brego over to one of the highly busy stable hands, after patting the stallion's neck in gratefulness for a last time. Once more, his loyal new companion had proven his steadfast endurance, but now he urgently needed food and care; his auburn fur was soaked dark with sweat. If the animal got sick, Aragorn would have another friend less by his side in the next few days that would surely not be any easier than the last. Which was why Aragorn was relieved that by now, Brego reluctantly let other people at least touch him again. Right now, he couldn't have looked out for the animal himself on top of everything else.

Gimli and him got back together in the treatment room after the dwarf had told the other members of the Fellowship, the King and Éomer what had happened. Silently, they watched Mithrandir attending to tasks that Aragorn should have been busy with, like putting Legolas down on the clean covers of a freshly made bed, shooing everyone away who had no business being here, and gathering first utensils for the healing.

When Aragorn couldn't stand the icy silence anymore, the unspoken reproaches in Mithrandir's eyes, in his posture, his movements, he finally spoke up. He knew hardly anyone who could communicate so much without saying a single word like the wizard, at least if you spoke his very own language. "Don't you think I would have stopped him if he'd given me half a chance?"

His voice contained so much guilt and grief that Mithrandir's little outburst quickly came to an end. Still shaking with anger, but not anger on Aragorn anymore, he turned to him. "Take him outside." He nodded towards Gimli. "Rest for a few minutes. Especially you, Aragorn. I'll be needing you for this."

"Why is everyone treating me like a fool?" Now it was Gimli losing his head, tossing his ax into a corner and stamping his foot. Until now, he had controlled himself to not delay the risky ride. Now it became obvious how much he wanted to be out there right now, to mutilate Legolas' torturers even further, but his wish to support his friend was stronger. "Do you think me blind, Aragorn? I was in battles long before they even talked about you. You think me naive, Gandalf? I know exactly what these two stinking bastards did to him. I smelled it before we were even close. If you think I'll hide like a scared child now …"

"Heavens, _be quiet_! This is a sick room!" Aragorn harshly grabbed his arm to put a stop to his rant. Apparently, he had indeed underestimated Gimli's instincts and his experience. Maybe he should have told his companion the truth right away. He'd have to apologize – again – for that later. For now, it was vital to take care of certain gruesome wounds. Especially of the ones on the inside. "We all want to help, but there is nothing that can make this right. We aren't of any use if we stay to witness what comes next. There is no time for debates, don't you get that? Do you want him to die, is that it?"

Gimli clenched his fists. For seconds, he seemed close to attack Aragorn with more than words. Then he turned away abruptly, took his ax and left, with heavy footsteps.

Aragorn followed him without another word. He hated leaving a patient out of sight, but Mithrandir knew ways of healing that in spite of all of his experience, Aragorn himself would always be barred from practicing, due to the absence of any kind of magical powers alone. Maybe such powers were the only thing capable of saving a lost soul today. No healing herbs and no bandage in this world could make a heart beat on that just wasn't willing to anymore.

By a short wave to the windows, the shutters were closed, leaving the room in darkness. Actually, it was much too late to intervene. Only spells could make a difference now that usually had to remain hidden. Under normal circumstances, Mithrandir wouldn't have used them, not for a foolish young elf who had left a safe fortress out of nothing but hurt pride. He would have delivered Thranduil his son's body the next chance he got, and wondered for a long time to come if he had made the right choice.

Now he just made it. The Fellowship needed Legolas, just like it needed Gimli, Aragorn, everyone whose fate was bound to the Ring. Even though this would demand much of him, though it would set him back in his studies and expose him to the danger of losing control over himself, just like Saruman had not too long ago: He would not allow the last of life leaving Legolas' body.

With another gesture, pointed at the bed, he pulled back the cloak hiding the traces of torture and stared at the wounds expressionlessly, already focused on the magic that should detox them. Men … once more.

In the last few hours, Legolas had doubtlessly suffered more than ever before. And if even a small part of him was fully conscious, this part already had the time after his rescue to look forward to. For the worst was yet to come. The life afterwards with the scars, without the comfort of the reconstructive powers in the Halls of Mandos. And all of that only because of his own stupidity.

Mithrandir shouldn't have felt compassion, especially not one so deep that the sight had him sink onto the mattress for a moment. He shouldn't let such things move him.

Maybe it was his fate that he still did. Maybe that was what distinguished him from Saruman.

"I will not let you succumb to shadow." He carefully rested one hand on Legolas' forehead. "We go through this together, even when we're apart. That’s how it was, that's how it will be. Let the light of the elder heal your wounds, Thranduilion, and do not turn away from life."

Night was falling on Helm's Deep, and still none of the people waiting either in front of the sick room or in the few non-ruined parts of the fortress learned how that one elf was faring who had not only fought for the Rohirrim with the King and Aragorn of the North along with some of his kind, but who had accompanied the Fellowship of the Ring from the start.

After Aragorn had been called to join Gandalf, Gimli had to endure the wait just as idly as the men around him. Constantly grouching, annoyed, he was sitting with King Théoden, Éomer and Éowyn in the hall where a cautious victory celebration had begun. He was neither in the mood for drinking nor for singing. Éowyn's clumsy attempts to comfort him all failed.

Several times, he moved to just jump up and run to the sick room but was stopped by an immensely strong hand on his lower arm every time, and pierced by a pair of hard dark eyes. Each time, Éomer's reward was a glance that would make an orc's blade melt. Unfortunately, the man seemed to be immune to that by nature, probably thanks to his not overly affectionate uncle.

So Gimli always sat down again. But each time, his expression turned even darker.

When Éowyn ran off unexpectedly, he was too stunned to react for a moment. Only when a well-known muscular silhouette scurried past the open doors, like a shadow, he hurried outside as well. Just in time to hear Éowyn's fearful question that was answered with nothing but an absent-minded look.

"Go to him, Gimli." Maybe Aragorn hadn't even really noticed the young Rohiril with the endless bright hair standing right next to him. Only the sight of his companion brought some life to his grey eyes, not much though. "I'll be right back. Too much blood for a night watch is on my clothes."

It was obvious, Éowyn didn't know whether to follow Gimli or Aragorn. Finally she started to leave for the sick room, hesitatingly.

But now it was her whom Éomer had to hold back.

"You can't help them." He lovingly pulled her into his arms when he noticed the glistening in her beautiful round eyes. "We have enough people to bemoan. Don't burden your heart with even more."

"What will this war make of us if even the Firstborn fall?" she asked, choked, so quietly that he could pretend, he didn't hear.

Maybe it hadn't been a good idea to allow Gimli of all people into a room that might soon wear mourning. For the dwarf, all of this was just too much.

Fairly restored, with a new tunic and without blood in his face, Aragorn reentered the chambers shortly after him, where Mithrandir was now sitting in a corner with his eyes closed and his arms crossed on his staff. Worriedly, he watched the stocky figure by the bedside.

Gimli's long braid had come apart, his red hair fell wildly over his snow-white face. His mouth was agape. He didn't dare touch the patient that he wanted to help so badly, who didn't even realize he was there.

That Legolas wasn't even reacting to Gimli's presence meant, his mind was even more clouded than Aragorn had feared. Too much maybe to get him back. That would be decided in the course of the night.

"What did you do?" Gimli's trembling voice revealed the tediously suppressed anger that the sight of the red stained covers left him with, of Legolas' ashy skin color and his feverish cheeks.

"What was necessary." Aragorn heated a bowl of water for new healing stock. With growing powerlessness, he noticed the bandages wrapped around the thick swellings cutting ever deeper into Legolas' flesh. Sighing, he searched for new linen in his bag. "Mithrandir gave him the physical strength to live through the treatment before we cleaned the last of dirt from the wounds. Now I'm trying to fight the poison in his cells with potions. It's nearly too late for that though. Now I can only trust the ability of elves to heal a lot faster than men. But that won't happen as long as Legolas' soul is hiding in the dark."

Gimli started to form an answer but hushed then, sensing the utter defenselessness in the room. Heavily bracing on his ax, he got to his feet and started to leave before anyone could ask him to, but returned then to push his weapon under the sickbed.

_Prayers might be all he has right now._

Once they were alone, Aragorn buried his face in his hands. Mithrandir's calm hand on his back helped getting himself under control again. He couldn't show any weakness now. As little hope as he had at this point, he wouldn't destroy that too, by giving Legolas up like the elf himself had already. "Go, it's alright. I'll stay with him."

After knowing Mithrandir for so many years, Aragorn rarely asked him anything when he knew, he would be ignored anyway. This time, as well, it took him until his friend was already standing in the doorway, before he could bring himself to speak up. And even then, the words came so quietly from his lips that he couldn't be sure, they'd been heard.

He did get an answer, but it wasn't what he wanted to hear.


	6. Chapter 6

_We've tried everything, Estel. Now it is no longer in our hands._

_Is he dying,_ _Mithrandir_ _?_

_If he is, then there's nothing any of us can do about it._

_back in the days of old, all future bared to my eyes_

_yearning to leave my own and fill my lungs with the air of the world_

_yet when my heart took its first breath_

_and earned its first scars like all things do_

_fate answered with the promise to weigh easy on me_

_but know that when the hurt leaves you weary_

_and the dark will not let you rest_

_keep your eyes on the sky_

_and find me singing to you_

_when none of your paths lead to light_

_and your own heart can’t be trusted_

_rest assured that when you keep your eyes on the sky_

_you will find me singing to you_

_through the depths of Anduin I shall dive_

_the mellyrn of Lórien shall I revive to keep you warm_

_our hearts touched and bound by fate_

_until the world will end_

_so know that when the hurt leaves you weary_

_and the dark will not let you rest_

_keep your eyes on the sky_

_and find me singing to you_

"Follow my voice, Legolas. Do not fear the darkness. Today, it is only the light failing you, not your eyes."

That voice … It was impossible.

She couldn't _be_ here. She was long on her way into the west. A dream, sure, just another of the fever dreams, like the one about this ghostly meeting in Lórien. Or maybe a last hallucination before it was over. It couldn't be long now. There was no strength left in Legolas’ body, hardly enough to even open his eyes.

When he finally managed to, he startled so much that the pain nearly flung him back into unconsciousness. No, not a dream, he was wide awake – and not alone.

Next to him on the bed was his secret betrothed, Tarisilya Vandriniel. Her eyes were filled with tears. Her body was all but reduced to a skeleton, her skin deathly pale, and never before had he seen her in a black dress … But it was her, definitely.

"I sent you away," he whispered, the fear for her even worse than the dismal memory of what had happened earlier.

He had wanted her to get away from here, to be gone from the terrors of war. And now she had come to the one place where only hours earlier, the creatures of Sauron had slaughtered children and Firstborn.

Firstborn of which some of them, they had both known, though of course they had been closer to Tarisilya. After all, she was the one who had spent her whole life in the Golden Wood. Was the grief for her friends making her long for a black blade in her own heart now?

"Ilya, you need to leave … It's much too dangerous here. The battle … So many have fallen ... Haldir, he's still fighting for his life …."

"I know. I heard the men on the hallway talk." She blinked a few times, trying her best to not let this possible loss get to her, not now. "Usually, I would go to him too, for Tegiend's sake alone, but there's no time. And right now, I don't have the strength for two large healing sessions within such a short time. Besides, one of Lórien's best healers has fought with you last night, he's with him now. If he can't make it to save him, there's nothing I could do either. And I'm afraid, those won't be the last losses caused by this battle. You can't smell anything but blood and death within these walls, Legolas. This world is dying. I am already on my way to leave all that behind."

She tenderly caressed his hand. "I only turned around to make sure, you'll be following me into the west once your heart can accept, there is no rescue for Middle-earth. I pray that it won't take you as long as me to understand that."

A few months ago, Legolas would have sharply objected, blaming her for giving up the home she always had so vehemently defended against her brother and father. Gone was all that, replaced by the bitter awareness that she was right. He could have had the life with her, the two of them had always dreamed of, if only he'd made the right decision in Imladris back then. Now it was too late.

It didn't matter how she had managed to come here so quickly. Maybe this abstract mental meeting in Lórien had happened after all. She was with him in what was probably his last minutes, that was all that counted. "I love you, moon-queen. Still and forever."

"Be careful with words that big whilst you're unable to stand by them, my prince."

Her narrow hand rested on his sweat-covered forehead for a moment, then on his cheek. "We can't talk. I have to begin."

" _Begin_?" Legolas' mind tumbled back to reality more and more - and found a hundreds of years old concern there. Someone must have seen Tarisilya entering Helm's Deep. Someone who would ask questions. With much effort, he made it to turn his head a little and spotted Aragorn, sitting on a chair by the window.

Breathing noisily, he had sunk down deeply in it. If he woke up though, if he saw them … Aragorn knew Tarisilya, fleetingly, but his well-trained memory would recall it at once. The secret that the two of them had guarded for a thousand years, would be revealed ...

"You really think, I would do that to you?" Tarisilya asked bitterly. "As long as you can't commit to us, no one will know, Legolas. Nothing's changed about that. I rode on darkest wooden paths through half of Rohan, and like a ghost in this field of rubble here, just so one would notice me. You think I want to waste time now, trying to explain what a she-elf is doing by your bedside? I used a song to send Estel to sleep. That wasn't hard; I don't think he's had any for days."

A reassurance, but a small one only. Aragorn would become suspicious. He didn't just sleep. He would want to know, and maybe someone would tell him, long after Legolas had succumbed to the death waiting for him in this bed.

If that actually was what fate had planned for him. For the first time since those horrible last seconds in the hands of his enemy, the smallest of hopes filled him that maybe it wasn't over just yet.

If it wasn't indeed, then he would have to face a battle even more difficult. Life. Marked, haunted and with the fear on top that his weakness that had forced Tarisilya to come here, would start another war, this time one between their realms.

He was way too exhausted to get upset about that right now, but Tarisilya knew him well enough to read the doubt in his narrowed eyes. "We don't have time for your favorite dispute right now, so how about you forget about our different ancestry for an hour?" Leaning her forehead against his, she let him feel the comfort of proximity for a long moment. "I will do my part to make sure we can really be together, once you have enough of the life of a hero. But you have to want it, or death might come to us both and the Halls might divide us for much longer, and maybe in a much more final way. This will only deepen our bond, and at some point, there's no return."

"I didn't ask you to come here." He tried to break away instinctively. Tarisilya's words triggered even more fear, no longer the fear of a scandal uncovered. Only the fear for her. The heat of anger and reluctance welling up in him drew the last of energy in his cells. "I don't want you to get yourself in danger for me!"

"You should have thought about that before you gave your heart to me, Legolas Thranduilion. I can try to heal you, better than the men and Mithrandir have, especially your soul." Her fingertips caressed his cheeks, her eyes never leaving his. "But a few minutes of closeness can't make everything forgotten. If you give up now or just pretend something for me … If I leave you alone, and in a few days, you'll let an orc shoot you … Then I probably _will_ die, with my heart broken and without the suspect of seeing you again real soon. So tell me, Legolas, do you want me to go? Or do you want to live?"

"I have to." His eyes closed, from tiredness and because he suddenly couldn't look at Tarisilya anymore. "If there really is a way to leave this darkness in me behind, I have no choice. I have to be there for the others. They need me. My own fate has long stopped mattering."

When he felt Tarisilya's deep dismay, he forced himself to look up once more. "Except for you, I know that very well. And I will not let you die."

"Then we have something in common." She put a finger on his chapped lips. "No more."

The decision, no matter how risky it was, was made.

The silence lasted only until Tarisilya bent down to the beg next to the bed where she kept her healing utensils. Coming up with a knife, she removed the bandage around Legolas' shoulder. "You know what you have go to through now, right?" She'd have loved to spare him that part at least, but that would mean stopping where the limited healing abilities of men had ended.

"It will hurt you just as much." He quickly kissed her free hand, showing her how much he trusted her and still worried about her. "Why can't I stop you?"

"Because we are bound to one another, my prince." Tarisilya hugged him gently, nestling close to him for a moment, then prompted him to turn around, softly pushing down against his temple until he took the pillow between his teeth.

"I'm begging the Valar for the strength to get through this." Tears in her eyes yet again. In despair, she looked out the window, at the moon that had given her power all her life. Since parting from her father, she could barely feel its light. She had to make it without its support.

With what determination the months of fear had not robbed her of, she grabbed Legolas' right upper arm and made the first cut. It was easier once she had started. Tarisilya had early learned to shut out her emotions when treating someone. Even if it was someone she loved. With the first blood shed, her hands started to act all by themselves. What choice did she have? She had to be quick and merciless now, or Legolas would lose even more blood and not recover from that alone.

So she did what drew barely muffled screams from Legolas' lips again and again, until she had to wonder about Aragorn not waking even from those, about no one in the quiet fortress hearing them either. Every of those screams hit her to the core, but when she finally bandaged the wound again, the swelling started to go down. That had been the easy part.

After helping him lie on his back again, Tarisilya rested her head against Legolas' chest for a precious moment, just enjoying the feeling of his soft skin against her cheek. Wiping her eyes with her sleeve, she forced herself to sit back up. Murmuring a few quiet words on Sindarin, she gathered all the energy left in her and concentrated on the tender mental connection between her betrothed and herself.

The worst pain was only just starting now, deep in her soul where she tried to ease Legolas' agony by sharing it with him. Humiliation, helplessness … Never before had she experienced anything like this. She could see the torture in all its cruelty before her inner eye, pictures that marked her just as much as him. Never would she forget this feeling of being completely at someone's mercy. Now she understood much better why he had wanted to die, why so many elves did when something like this happened to them. Nothing could be worse than being used this way. It would take centuries, millennia to heal this wound, if it could at all. Tarisilya could only hope that Legolas would survive this war, no matter how it would end, so she would at least get a chance to try.

Only when a still very agitated hand wiped away her tears, she realized she was crying.

And that it had worked.

"Thank you, Ilya. Once more, you gave yourself up completely only to support me."

Still trembling all over, Legolas hid his face against her hair. The invisible thread linking their souls that had become even more indestructible in the last minutes, allowed her to witness a wall of pure, iron suppression being built in him, banning every thought of this horrible morning out in the woods to the most hidden corner of his soul, where it would be buried at least until the end of this war. Lurking, in weak moments always ready to erupt and tear Legolas to the ground … But for the moment, this shield that they had together built so arduously, stone by stone, to save him from getting lost to two misguided men, was holding up.

That was all she could expect right now. There wasn't time for anything more.

Unbelievably relieved, she caressed his neck until her fingertips bumped against the ring there, which didn't exactly help stopping her tears. "I had to. I thought, I would lose you. Without any hope left that we can ever be happy. If we will ever be allowed at all …" She stopped. Not now. He had been through enough, without her burdening him with these problems yet again.

She startled back in surprise when Legolas raised his voice again, not insecure or disheartened anymore, but with a firmness she had rarely heard from him when it had been about this subject.

"Do you think I'd have betrothed myself to you if I didn't want to marry you, Tarisilya Vandriniel? Do you think me fickle or dishonorable?"

"No, of course not." Abashed, she lowered her head. She had hurt him again, and this time without a knife. "I didn't mean to …"

"I know. I hear your brother talking, and I can't hold it against him. I hesitated for a very long time before I asked you for your love, you know that. For your sake, and for his, too. But at some point I realized that we can't spend our eternity apart, in spite of all the trouble, a future together brings for us. Le melin, Ilya."

Legolas tenderly took her face between his hands. It was a big relief, seeing him use the right one, after fearing that might never happen again at the beginning of this night. "You hear me? If I am to die in the battle for Middle-earth, I will do it with your name on my lips. And if I survive, there will not be a day when I won't think of you, until my path leads me back to you. That might not happen at once, for my love for the Fellowship binds me, but my yearning for you will lead me west, once I have shed the scars of the War of the Ring. I know I'm asking something horrible of you, Ilya, but please wait for me. I don't want to lose you."

"You won't." She softly stroked his forehead, his beautiful full lips that were no longer distorted by pain. "I wish I could be fighting here with you. But my heart already accepted that's not possible when you were in Lórien. I will not be alone in Valinor. My father is waiting for me, and my brother will never leave my side. Maybe even our mother will join us one day. And still, I will be lonely. I will never stop yearning for you. There will be days when I will wish to never have met you. But never being united with you would be worse than all this pain. I carry your promise with me." Tarisilya wistfully touched her betrothal ring that fortunately did not glow anymore.

She couldn't see his, she only felt it, right where she had braided it in herself, in a strand of hair that Legolas would cut off as a symbol for their commitment when the war ended.

That was what she had seen in her dreams. That was what would happen. After this night, she didn't have a doubt. "I love you so much."

"Le melin, moon-queen." This time, she could believe him. This time, there was no fever in his eyes. Only deep, unconditional feelings. Their lips meeting, they both breathed a sigh when the touch allowed the emotions between them to tangle, to let them feel what the other was feeling. Happiness, contentment, hope. Never had they expected to experience something like this in an hour of war of all times. It was a unique, a rare moment that would help them face what was yet to come.

"I can't let you go." And yet his hand tightened around hers when they backed away as slowly as they'd approached the other. The determination he had shown in Lórien, his wish to know Tarisilya safe … All that he was questioning again already, just a kiss later.

"You have to." She lovingly pushed his messy hair from his face.

"Your life here is awaiting you, and mine is waiting for me. There won't be ships docking at the port forever." She abruptly got up when a heavy shudder took hold of her, the memory of how hard that journey to Mithlond had been so far, and that the rest of the way wouldn't be any easier. On the contrary. This night had made sure of that. "I can't be here any longer. It would tear me to the ground. I would be stopping again and again until I ran out of strength. I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize." Legolas pulled her hand close for a last time and kissed it, slowly, deliberately, before reluctantly letting go of her. "Ride like the wind, Ilya. I want nothing happening to you on your last journey through Middle-earth."

"The moon will protect me, remember?" she replied with a weak smile, though she hadn't quite believed that herself in a while. "And Tegiend is waiting for me outside, so I won't be alone. Once we left the Gap behind, nothing can happen. Until the day we meet again, you are always in my thoughts, Legolas."

"Until the day we meet again, you are always in my thoughts." He repeated the oath they'd first sworn to each other at their betrothal and then turned away just as quickly as her … before their hearts could make them do something they would regret forever.


	7. Chapter 7

_In that night when Lórien was filled with the elves' laments, not one member of the Fellowship could find rest. Soon enough, there wasn't anything keeping Aragorn on his bed. When he got up, he wasn't surprised to notice, both Frodo and Legolas had strayed from the group. People handled pain in different ways._

_The area of Lórien was big, so he didn't expect meeting anyone he knew. But when he reached a clearing at the edge of the city where he hoped to find enough silence for a few hours of contemplating, he spotted Legolas' tall shape in the weak moonlight a few feet away._

_Shoulders slumped, his head lowered … A more than unusual posture for the elf. Losing the wizard had hit him just as hard as the others._

_"You look terrible. Sick and tired."_

_Aragorn didn't want to interrupt the conversation, whoever Legolas was talking to, and turned away. But then he heard a deep female voice that sounded familiar. Now he could see another silhouette, also quite tall, standing conspicuously close to his friend. Hidden in the shadows, he hadn't spotted it right away._

_The she-elf was crying. "Does that really surprise you? For so long, I could only wait, only hope … I can't do this anymore, Legolas. I don't want to be afraid anymore of feeling your death anytime soon. And Tegiend can't stand being here any longer. I have to watch him suffer as well._ Come with us _! Leave the blood and the fear behind."_

_"Ever since this catastrophe began, there was nothing I wanted more." Legolas took the she-elf's hand, just for a moment. "But I can't and I won't run away now. I will fulfill my duty as long as I am needed here. That doesn't change anything about us though. It never will, no matter where you are, Ilya. If that is what you need to get better … I don't want to hurt you anymore. Tegiend will take good care of you. Don't wait any longer, not another day. You two don't belong here anymore."_

_"That much is true. More than you know." Whether it was the calmness or the distance with which Legolas posed that difficult request - the she-elf stepped back from him hastily._

_A poisoned thorn pierced Aragorn's heart; frowning, he turned away. By now, he had thought to know Legolas quite well. There seemed to be a side of him that had remained hidden so far._

The darkness of a sombre Lórien night remained when Aragorn woke up. Only the glitter of the surroundings was gone when his head jerked up, when he was trying in vain to remember how he could have fallen asleep, in such a night of all times, on such an important watch. There had been singing outside the room, the same voice he'd just heard in his sleep, in that memory …

A hasty check of Legolas' condition did nothing to relieve his confusion. His patient's breathing had turned much calmer and deeper, the fever was going down. The swellings on his shoulder had almost vanished completely as well, the wounds on his back started to pale. Something very strange had happened here while Aragorn had been dreaming.

Quick hoof beats in the otherwise silent surroundings led him to the window. There, in the distance … The bad lighting from too few torches made it hard to tell, but there definitely were the shapes of two jet-black horses. And Aragorn quickly recognized their riders' petite silhouettes as well. The intuition that dream had triggered, was right then. Except for Lord Elrond and his sons, he knew only one healer who could work such a miracle like with Legolas here. She had done it before, after Aragorn's and Legolas' captivity in that Haradrim village back then, when Aragorn had been almost certain, he would lose his new elf friend.

He could have followed her; it was possible still to catch up with her. Maybe it would be better if he did. He would at least finally know for sure what was weighing down on Legolas ever since Aragorn knew him. Only the feeling of disturbing something that was none of his business, held him back.

"You should get back to sleep, mellon. You look dead on your feet." Legolas' still weak voice made the decision for him. "I am alright." Aragorn's critical glance even brought a smile to his face. "Just a little hurt pride because you were right once more. Thank you, Aragorn. Without you …"

"It wasn't me who healed you," Aragorn interrupted him, harsher than intended. "I can't deny, I'd love to know who did it instead. And why I was denied watching."

"I don't know what you're talking about." Legolas' expression immediately became unapproachable. "If somebody was here, I didn't notice much. A fleeting acquaintance probably, sent here by Lady Galadriel to help because she felt what happened. Or maybe one of the Lórien healers in the fortress had a few minutes to spare. I will thank them personally. Just give me a few more minutes to recover. I'll be with you soon."

"Completely out of the question." Aragorn knew of course, that Legolas was only trying to deflect, and unfortunately he succeeded. "You can't get up yet …"

"I don't plan to engage in singing and dancing. I'll stay seated, I promise. But don't begrudge me for being unable to stay in bed right now, mellon. Give me a few minutes alone, will you?" Legolas closed his eyes demonstratively, hiding behind understandable exhaustion after such a difficult day, but this time, Aragorn wasn't deceived so easily.

"I don't know what exactly you're trying to hide and from whom, but better make sure I'm not robbed of my senses by one of your _acquaintances_ ever again." He spared himself the following annoying silence by leaving to inform the others that the danger was over.

"We haven't been here for too long." Tarisilya spoke up again for the first time when Tegiend and her stopped for a nostalgic look at the mountains where Imladris was located. The beautiful memories of this realm tempted them both to rest there for a while, but that would have only made the good-bye worse. The weight of ultimacy started to rob Tarisilya of her words once more as it was.

Thinking about those visits in Lord Elrond's home seemed to light at least some of the darkness inside of her though.

Tegiend just nodded lightly, seeing before his inner eye all those summers he had spent with Lord Elrond's sons to recover from the demanding life of a marchwarden. This place and the people there he had always highly appreciated. Not a day that he had spent in this valley would he ever want to erase from his soul. He could recall countless pictures of wine, laughter and dancing, of two identical elves with pointed features and the wise, bright eyes of their father, who had taught Tegiend just as much about fighting as Glorfindel, and who unlike him had never unlearned how to smile.

These hours of joy in his youth suddenly became so alive in his head, he could swear to see a small group of elvish riders on one of the switchback paths up the hills shielding the valley, though they were of course too far away to spot such a thing.

Yet there it was, the thick black hair of Elrond's proud Noldor line, always coming as a pair, floating in a wild gallop. And ahead of the unit, no less splendid, endless curls of gold that could only be Glorfindel's. A much too clear image for a pure delusion; Elrond's mightiest warriors probably were indeed once more on the road to secure the borders of their valley. A valley just as surrounded by the threats of war as any. They might have mentally touched for a moment, an unconscious farewell from both sides, and a warning for the other to take care of themselves.

Tarisilya's melancholic smile revealed, she had seen it as well, in one of the few moments left these days when Tegiend's and her souls accidentally touched. For a second, it seemed she wanted to propose stopping for a few days of recovery, at this place that had brought them so much pleasure, after all. Her eyes turned that way once more … But then she looked away with a sad sigh.

"If the Valar have mercy on us all, we will see them again, Ilya. Until then, we all have to get by on our own." Tegiend offered her his arm like so often in the last days and weeks, to help her dismount for a quick break. There was still a long ride ahead.

Tarisilya usually was more than capable to get down from her horse; she had always been a better rider than him. But in the last years, she had neglected both sleeping and eating so often that it had left clear traces. His sister had fully succumbed to the depression that the conflict of not knowing where she wanted to live had caused. And guarding the borders of Lórien had kept Tegiend too busy to try and help her. As much as Tarisilya sought to hide it: Her body was weakened to the point of total exhaustion, especially after that detour to Rohan and whatever she had done there.

It was about high time she arrived at a place of eternal beauty and light.

"We'll soon be somewhere where things are always like in Imladris." After she had eaten a little, Tegiend lovingly pushed back a few strands of Tarisilya's strawy hair from her forehead and helped her get up. "You don't have to hide from anyone then. We go to the land of all the elves where no small-minded beings will judge us anymore. Where we are all the same. There is now nothing left standing between you and Legolas, except for time. I guess, if you believe in him, then so can I. Go with this anticipation in your heart."

"There won't be any bliss in me until Legolas finds his way to Valinor also and our happiness can begin at last," Tarisilya answered, tears choking her voice once more. "But now I know that it will happen, in whatever way it might. And so I turn my back to the world of blood."

"It is a sadness that will haunt all elves forever." For the first time in quite a while, Tegiend let it show that this development was weighing on him just as heavily. The sight of the beloved valley in the distance had cracked the ice freezing his soul a little. He had experienced much good in these realms as well. "It didn't need to come to that. Now there is nothing left holding us here. Soon, Firstborn will be nothing but myth in Middle-earth. Elves like Legolas will forever carry that with them."

"I will spend my whole existence, helping him deal with this pain," Tarisilya replied quietly.

Tegiend briefly kissed her forehead and stowed away the rest of their supplies. His arm wrapped around her waist to keep her upright, he was about to lift her back on her horse when she suddenly broke away, loudly gasping for air.

Deep, black fear spread in Tegiend's heart before she had even said one word. "Ilya … no."

Her eyes were wide open with fright, disbelief, angst. Never had he seen her look that lost. "I will die. I saw it when I turned away from Imladris."

"Ilya …"

" _I'm dying_!" She backed off before he could try to calm her, to make her forget the worry for her betrothed once more, and just wait for everything to be alright. Maybe he had actually pictured that to be easier than it was.

"When you look back, you see relief, don't you? You almost hate Middle-earth by now. When I look back, I see the love of my life. We were one for so long, Tegiend; sometimes we lived our lives as if we were one person instead of going our separate ways. But Middle-earth has separated us. I can't share your hate just to not hurt you. Middle-earth might not be out fate, but it is my home, until there will be nothing left here holding _me_ here."

She rested her hands on his face that was so similar to her own, and yet they had never been more estranged from one another. "Please, do not hate me too. My vision tells me without a doubt, I would die of my broken heart if left now. And then it would be the Halls that would keep us apart for a very long time. But if you turn away from me, I won't survive that either."

As quickly as this sudden new energy had filled her, it ran out; she collapsed to the ground.

For a moment, Tegiend was too frozen even to catch her.

In the blink of an eye, everything was over.

A seemingly endless break later, that hurt both of them even more, Tegiend finally managed to bend down to Tarisilya, to pull her into his arms. "I don't hate you." He held her firmly like he'd never let her go, as if that could stop her from her plan. "I'm only afraid, Ilya. I can wait, but … Even if you make it through this madness we just left behind alive: Someday, the last ship to Valinor will leave Middle-earth. What happens then?"

"Soon, yes," she nodded. "But even if that ship is not my destiny, I will find a way. I never broke a promise I gave you. I'll be careful. Manyala will take me away from danger faster than they can even see me. And someday, I will come home to you, to both of you. You and I will meet again, you have my word." She kissed his cheek for a long moment, let him feel all her love for him one last time. "Tell ada, I love him."

"He knows that." Tegiend was unable to keep the grief and anger from his voice, or to let go of Tarisilya's hands before she broke away and got up on her horse, with all the effort she could muster up.

"Tell Legolas …" He paused, then tried again but the grudge he was holding made it impossible, finding words for an elf who was taking the other half of himself from him, the other side of his soul. For centuries, millennia maybe. They had never been apart for such a long time …

"He'll take care of me, just like you took care of me all those years. Le melin, Tegiend. Never forget that."

Just like in Helm's Deep, in the end it was Tarisilya who quickly turned away to get Manyala going. Looking back would have brought the final collapse under everything tearing her soul apart. She couldn't stand being in Tegiend's presence for even another second, knowing it would be the last.

She didn't even have a chance to tell him about Haldir's fate anymore. Actually, she had planned to do that at the port. To leave all their friends behind, including the one who meant so much more to Tegiend than he had ever brought himself to admit, was difficult enough for him. She hadn't wanted to make the situation just as unbearable for him as it was for her. Not whilst she didn't know anything for certain. Once she reached the realms of men and would hopefully get more information, she would write to him and hope that the message would reach him in time.

Only when she was out of reach, she dared to slow Manyala's gallop down to a walk and turn her head. She was relieved that Tegiend was already out of sight. For her, Valinor would be nothing but a dream for a very long time to come.

And now that she had had to give up on her brother, just like on her father before that, her heart would never glow in the levity and brilliance of the moon again.


	8. Chapter 8 (M/M smut)

Arwen almost flinched back when she opened the door of her chambers. The visitor had obviously been standing there for hours already, waiting to talk to someone so urgently – with her father probably, definitely not with her –, that he had not even traded his white and blue traveling robe for tidy clothes yet. Glorfindel's hands bore traces of the coal he'd used to blacken Asfaloth's mane before their departure, a symbol of grief like so many elves had one on or with them on their last journey through these realms. Glorfindel seemed to have been in a hurry to get rid of that stuff, once it had become clear, Arwen had changed her decision once more. She couldn't hold it against him. Or that his bright eyes weren't half as good-natured and amused looking as usual but blazing with wrath instead. It was another stab through her heart that was already so weary from the developments of the last few days anyway.

Elrond was deeply rattled by something he'd hoped to prevent til the end, disappointed, resigned … Glorfindel was _mad_.

An elf who could make the Witch-king of Angmar draw in his horns wasn't someone you wanted on your bad side. And still, Arwen had to raise her arm, leaning against the door frame before Glorfindel could rush past her, with a warning shake of her head.

Her father had only just started to handle that after losing his brother so long ago, now his daughter had chosen the life of a mortal over the one in the light of the Valar as well. And that their time together had started to be limited. That depending on how this war ended, it might be over even faster than they were ready for it. In such a situation he couldn't deal with requests from his people, not even from his closest advisors and friends.

Arwen couldn't even bear staying in her own rooms herself though she felt more exhausted than ever before after traveling, and could have used a few hours of sleep. But there was less time to rest than ever.

"Give him a moment. It will be a long night. The decision has been made. Ada will reforge Narsil."

She didn't try apologizing again since Glorfindel had already refused to hear any of that on the way; Arwen had stopped trying saying those words to her father as well. Her feelings and her fate weren't her fault, and Arwen was sick of people making her feel guilty about them.

That didn't make the pained resentfulness easier though that one of her best friends and teachers faced her with, for a lack of another way to express his helplessness. The helplessness about having to say good-bye to her in the foreseeable future. At least he didn't try to change her mind. Glorfindel seldom meddled with issues like this.

Now that the path was clear, finally not only for her but for Aragorn as well, the general once more set aside his own emotions to remember his duties. No matter how little he might like them. Arwen could emphasize with that as well. Activity would at least help him better than the utterly useless ride he'd just brought her back from.

"Does the Lord need help?"

One more rejection Glorfindel would have to deal with today, though. This wasn't his expertise, and they couldn't allow a single thing to go wrong with that certain piece of work. "Ada will ask Camhanar. He'll be happy to make himself useful again. Tauriel is pregnant; the two of them just learned a few weeks ago. Ever since then, he hasn't been out there with the soldiers." And as one of the most experienced blacksmiths of the valley, with exceptionally strong hands, Camhanar would provide the necessary support for her father to proceed with an operation that complicated.

Neither of them would be of any use for that. "Come outside with me? I could use a bit of fresh air right now."

With the Battle of Helm's Deep being over, it was quiet around the valley for the moment as well. Enough to rest at least for a night or two before Glorfindel and she would ride out with sword and shield again to assist their troops. They had no right spending less time on that than the other warriors who secured the city's boundaries at the risk of their lives. Boundaries feeling tighter and more endangered by the day.

That Arwen wouldn't have much of a part in that for a while, she only realized when the unnaturally strong arms of her companion laid her down on a much too cold feeling bench in her father's private garden. Dazed, she blinked up at the clouded sky, wondering how in the world she had ended up here. Right. Walking down the stairs, her knees had suddenly felt unpleasently weak …

"I am alright now." She pulled away a suspiciously unsteady hand from under Glorfindel's searching fingertips on her wrist and rubbed her eyes. "It was a long day, that's all." But it wasn't just that. The shield around her soul that had become so sensitive in the last years already, seemed to turn more fragile, more transparent by the minute. Memories of that icy silence between Glorfindel and her on the way home were replaced by more burdensome pictures of the last months, decades, centuries. More coming with every passing second, in a faster and faster ride.

Her brothers' reproachful glances when Arwen had finally admitted to herself that there was nothing, nothing at all she could do to change her feelings for a mortal.

Her father's tears. The whitish body of her mother, disfigured by countless wounds, being carried into the halls of healing right before her eyes. Celebrían's farewell before going into the unknown; the weak hope back then that someday, Arwen would see her mother again. A hope which she now knew to be in vain.

The look on Aragorn's face when the Fellowship had left Imladris, filled with the unalterable certainty that it was the last time he was ever seeing her.

Violence, blood and death. Outside the gates of her home, in the lands of Men, in other elven realms. And even right among them, again and again. Unsettling whispers of the heralds of Rohan that this last battle had not only meant the end for more than one Firstborn of Lórien, but almost for the son of the King of the Woodland Realm as well - the end for one of Arwen's best friends. The fear growing especially since receiving these terrible news, that the shadow would be stronger than them in the end, in spite even of Elrond agreeing to provide the Free Folk with one last hope.

The biggest worry of all, that Arwen would indeed lose her beloved to a blade of Mordor, before she could hold him in her arms one more time.

She only realized she was holding on to the hand on her shoulder like a drowning elf, crying hot tears of despair, when her sobs made it hard to breathe.

A tender, calming kiss was pressed to her forehead before Glorfindel backed away from her. "I will get the Lord."

"No." Again, she stopped him. This time she didn't have nearly enough strength to do it physically though, if he really meant to go. She had rarely felt so weak before, not even at the beginning of the war, after weeks on the watch at the gates, without any sleep and with little provisions. Little by little, she realized it was the burden of millennia crashing down on her without warning, making her feel like her heart was breaking in two. After the change of her body, now her soul started to accept as well that she had given up the life of an elf. That overload of emotions in a mind suddenly feeling much too small and too inexperienced, she would have to deal with by herself.

"He can't catch me, not this time. Go, leave me alone, please."

"Eat and drink enough. You are white as a sheet."

After a last moment of hesitation, he really did leave. That, too, was Glorfindel. He chose his battlefields very deliberately, and if he wasn't being of any use on one, he retired.

Arwen had a feeling, that would be one of the first things she had to learn in this new life heavily raining down on her right now. Closing her eyes, she tried to ignore how empty, how cold her world suddenly felt, now that she was taking it in with senses no longer enhanced, senses that started to forsake her. The voices of the birds suddenly reached her ears quietly and unrecognizable. And that single dampened mash of blossoms in her nose, of flowers only just springing from the grounds … It felt like she had suddenly gone blind, and this was only the beginning.

Well, nothing could be done about that now. Now, she just had to get through this. Clinging to the weak prospect of salvation for this world that she had demanded from her father earlier, Arwen waited.

Arwen had underestimated her father, Glorfindel noticed, when he went to see the only person except for Lord Elrond, who could give him information on all that had happened in his absence, on which site needing improvement he would have to visit first.

The Lord was already hurrying through the library halls with his chief advisor by his side, as agitated as Glorfindel had seldom seen him, filled with the frantic urge to act that might at least ease his pain a little. A huge pile of books under one arm, he was busy building a second on his companion's while running down the diagonally placed shelves in the middle of the room. He kept on pulling works out of the jammed rows, pushing most of them back in just as hastily, roughly even, which elicited a pout from Erestor every time. It was soothing that some things didn't even change on a day when this world had become even emptier and gloomier than in the last centuries, that had taken all sparkle from it already.

Elrond's haunted appearance with his robe askew and his hair loosely bound back revealed how upset he still was by his daughter's unexpected return. He'd probably not even be ready for a meeting if an orc army with drawn weapons was waiting outside.

So instead of addressing him, Glorfindel silently waited for the two elves to be finished with their search. Perched on his usual spot on Erestor's desk, a cup of long-cold hillside herb tea between his fingertips, he tried his best not to let this unnerving hecticness infect him.

As much as he disliked being idle in times of war: The aid for the Men in the east wasn't his affair, Arwen was right about that. And if his presence would be urgently needed in the valley's lines of defenses at the moment, they would have called him in. People were obviously perfectly capable of getting along without him all of a sudden. It was highly doubtful, his substitute hadn't learned yet that Glorfindel had returned, and that elf seldom skipped a chance to remind him of his duties.

A few minutes of relaxing were maybe exactly what he needed to process the long-feared and still very hurtful setback regarding Elrond's daughter. To straighten out his own troubled, doubtful thoughts before rushing into the next battle. If he had as little hope for the unlikely rescue of Middle-earth in his heart as so many residents here, he hadn't needed to come back with Arwen. Thinking like that, he could long have taken his own leave.

One sword less apparently wouldn't have made a difference anyway. No, Glorfindel had not quite swallowed his annoyance about this dispensable trip just yet.

Which was why he couldn't bring himself to show more than a short nod when Elrond - finally done with storing the collected books in a box and already on his way outside - thanked him for accompanying Arwen on all of her double-minded ways.

"That was my duty."

"And you know why I asked it of you." Elrond's deeply sunken eyes narrowed even further. Actually, they had no time to repeat this discussion; it hadn't been Glorfindel who had started it, though.

Yet he felt, he had to point out the obvious once more, to make sure alone that he wouldn't ever be withdrawn from the front again in such crucial days. "Others could have protected her equally."

"Others, I couldn't trust to return though. Not many elves are capable of turning back on the path to Mithlond, Glorfindel." It was probably a compliment, but spoken with this dragging, choked voice, it turned into just another memory of what they had irrevocably lost today.

"There was another."

Now he had revealed the information after all, that after Arwen's request earlier he'd wanted to give to the Lord tomorrow, to not burden him further. It wasn't awfully considerate to mention it with Erestor in the room either. But the incident was preying on Glorfindel's mind too much. In her hurry to get home, Arwen probably hadn't even noticed. Considering how she had rushed ahead, Glorfindel couldn't be certain. Since for safety reasons alone, he'd loaned her his stallion once more who just happened to be the fastest horse in the valley, he'd mostly been busy keeping an eye on the surroundings and eating Asfaloth's dust.

"We met Vandrin's son when we turned back. Alone." From the corner of his eyes, Glorfindel saw Erestor's pale skin turn yet another shade of white and cursed soundlessly.

Elrond looked little enthusiastic about the news too. "And Tarisilya?"

That the two young elves had been on their way into the west as well, Elrond had learned weeks ago, from a message from Lady Galadriel. In fact, it hadn't even been that unlikely that Arwen's company would run into them on their way. This street deep within the woods had been known among the leaders of elven realms as the safest for centuries. That Galadriel would send the twins there was to be expected. But only one of them had reached it.

"I could not ask. He did not stop."

Elrond pressed his lips together, visibly worried. "I'll tell the scouts to have an eye on the surroundings." Seeing Erestor's doubtful objection coming before his advisor had done more than wrinkle his fine brows, he raised one hand. "This Mearh is a good animal, she'll watch out for her. Still. I like to keep my promises."

The promise. Right. On his own way into the west, Vandrin had showed up at the city gates quite unexpectedly back then. Elrond's long overdue reconciliation with that other, very powerful healer of Lórien, a conversation in the Hall of Fire that had lasted for days, had been overshadowed by the twins not accompanying their father. Instead, they had been forced to deal with the dangers of a conflict themselves, that had only just begun back then. In that light, Elrond had agreed gladly to look out for them if he could.

In the end, probably another commitment that couldn't be fulfilled. They just didn't have enough soldiers anymore to protect all of the remaining elves.

Especially not those making careless decisions, ignoring every rationality. The anger Glorfindel felt about such stupidity already, about a civilian slashing their way through war zones alone, Erestor could bridle only until Elrond left the library. Barely.

Then his fist hit the cold bricks between two shelves for the first time. Again. And again. With the determined precision to keep on going until either the stone or a bone gave in. Until the memory was silenced that actually, these news shouldn't – _couldn't_ – concern him as much as they did.

Before the librarian could achieve any of these goals, Glorfindel came finally close enough to grab his arm. A surprised noise of pain came from his lips when Erestor reflexively pushed him back, his elbow hitting Glorfindel's sternum. Apparently, his friend had trained a lot more consequently in the last decades again than Glorfindel had realized.

"Stay out of this." That was what Erestor always told him when it came to how he was dealing with his pain. An order Glorfindel chose to ignore on principle.

Following a sad routine, he stepped close again, impassively, to pull Erestor into his arms, from a better angle now, holding him there until his friend stopped his indeed quite painful attempts to free himself and Glorfindel felt comfortable with letting go of him. Without another word, he returned to the office. He had agreed to not talk about this whole drama anymore. They had too much respect for each other for that.

When Erestor came back, it was him now, carrying a big book under his arm. It was one of the many in here containing the story of Lúthien Tinúviel and her Beren, including many of the less heroic, less romantic details left out in some other versions of the tale.

Erestor seemed to have recovered enough to have an almost amused smile on his lips when Glorfindel turned away, shuddering.

"Is this funny to you?"

"That you people thought for even a week, you could defy fate? A little. At least that unbearable dance around the fire is finally over. What Lord Elrond's daughter needs now is help, not anger. So forget your pride and apologize, whatever you told her."

"I do not judge her love." Glorfindel tiredly shook his head and downed the last of his tea. Time to get out of here before this could become ugly again. "I hold her indecisiveness against her. I was needed here."

„What for?“ Erestor didn't acknowledge Glorfindel's irritation with more than a shrug. Ignoring the burning stare at his back too, he proceeded toward the teapot for a goblet of nerve poison himself.

„Little as you might like that, you're not irreplaceable. In case you haven't heard: That maniac who calls himself your substitute has let two orcs take him prisoner at the edge of the east camp last week, just to find out how big the next wave of attack will be and where exactly it will be coming from. And once he had his information, he bit the bastards' carotids. The Lord needed two days to find a matching antidote for all that shit he swallowed. Imladris can do without you, too, you made sure of that with how you trained Thondrar. Cut him and he'll bleed mithril. He has everything you have, including your arrogance and your inability to allow others into your life enough to accept help from them.“

„ _You_ can say that?“ Suppressing shock and anger, too, about no one even informing him about this incident - Glorfindel had quite a good idea on whose order that had happened -, Glorfindel reached for Erestor's arm again when he tried to pass him by.

The surprise about feeling exactly the startle he had been looking for, was limited. With a routine of millennia, he bunched up Erestor's sleeve, inspecting the new wound there with another shake of his head. Not a crash this time but a clumsily wielded dagger. "Whom did you persuade to spar?"

"None of your business. Let go of me." In his grip, Erestor's hand turned into a hard fist.

"Who fights in my troops, is. Sit. This requires disinfection." Rolling his eyes, Glorfindel got up to rummage in the drawer with healing utensils he'd had to open far too often in such conversations already. "You want to be at the front, just tell me. I might not like it, but right now, we need everyone anyway."

"You are neither my trainer nor my captain, Glorfindel. I'm backup when it all goes haywire at the borders, that's all. I don't need your permission for that." Erestor tried to break away again, with little more success. This time, Glorfindel didn't give in. The swollen wound margins were being pulled apart alarmingly under the growing pressure.

"Are you so dead set on finding out how many weapons I'm carrying?" The suddenly very quiet, very calm tone in his voice revealed a serious threat. Erestor was still aggressive because of what he'd learned earlier. The perfect mood for a fight.

After that frustrating trip west, Glorfindel felt the same, but he wouldn't be responsible for even more injuries than they both were already battling after that day. Instead, he did loosen his grip for a moment, only to push Erestor back against the nearest wall, and free two daggers from their scabbards on his back within seconds. That he happened to tear Erestor's expensive, black and grey velvet robe open in the process, he ignored intentionally. "Not even sharpened. Do you _want_ to kill yourself?"

"Said the elf who cuddles with Balrogs for sport." Now it was provocation only, not hidden advice like earlier. Erestor's eyes, almost black in the weak candle light, radiated heat. Now he felt it too, that this was one of those times when they were well advised to use each other to blow off steam, to regain their balance. Despite or maybe just because of being in the middle of a war. They had tried to handle the helplessness alone that maybe was the worst about that growing shadow drowning everything, long enough. And today, one more defeat had been added.

Sometimes there was only one way to deal with helplessness.

Glorfindel's robe, still filthy from the journey, stood open quicker than he realized that Erestor was wearing another dagger on his thigh, and admittedly … Seeing a narrow, straight blade wielded surprisingly skillfully by this small hand was a damn exciting sight, in spite of all the worry about a fighter physically limited by nature.

Pausing in distracted admiration for a moment, with his head slightly tilted, Glorfindel promptly earned bruises on his backside when Erestor shoved him against the desk. The ties of his breeches were being cut open next, before Glorfindel could point out that someone could come in here anytime.

Right now, not many elves strayed into the library, fortunately. And if someone did, they would have too much respect to approach such a scene between two of the most powerful inhabitants of this valley. No matter how unusual said scene might be for two elves without a kind of bond that the two of them actively decided against, whenever they engaged in this act.

It was nothing but desire and lust this time either when Erestor's clever hand started to fondle Glorfindel's quickly growing erection, the other busy rummaging in another desk drawer. Soon enough, he was on the chair in front of Glorfindel – Erestor ó Imladris would probably not even kneel for anyone if the One Ring ordered him to – and drove him mad within seconds, with basically only the touch of his skilled tongue on the underside of Glorfindel's cock.

An unrestrained moan on his lips, Glorfindel fell back, sweeping parchment and two books to the floor, to clench down on the edge of the table and thrust his hips up sharply, into the wet tightness engulfing him, way too softly for his taste.

The reward was a warning touch of steel against his thigh and another scathing look in these fascinating eyes. Not allowing him to rush anything, Erestor moved his head up and down at his very own slow speed, with tight pressure of his tongue and the roof of his mouth, obscene sounds of lust and effort on his stretched, full lips. Carelessly putting aside the dagger, he pushed Glorfindel's legs further apart with the other hand and pulled him closer to the edge. The top of a phial clinked, cool, slick fingers found that one hidden place between Glorfindel's trembling thighs.

A half-unnerved, half-impatient growl came from Glorfindel's lips. In a place still way too public, there was no time for games. Since Erestor took certain preparations just as seriously as he did though, he forced himself to relax his muscles as well as possible, and yield to the skilled conquest with hard movements of his hips. It didn't take his partner long to elicit loud moans from him, more of them with every thrust of three quickly working fingers against his most sensitive point. Unexpectedly, his lover suddenly moved his head closer, ignoring his own preferences and swallowing down the quiet gag in his throat to take all of him. Only Glorfindel's warning scream echoing between the library shelves quickly had Erestor pull back again.

All willingness to rest aside, there wouldn't be time for more than a few minutes of forgetting today.

Some things, they didn't need to say out loud anymore. Glorfindel slid down from the table, leaving behind a remarkable trace of sweat on the naked wood, as soon as Erestor stepped back to fumble with the ties of his own suspiciously tented breeches. The cool smooth surface was a relief on his heated skin when he bent over it, offering his partner what they were both longing for equally. Another protesting growl escaped his lips when Erestor buried his hand in his braids, messy from the journey, but soon turned to another delightful moan. Erestor's possessive, not-too gentle bite on the side of his neck was familiar, calming nearness, the light burn of muscles in his lower body that hadn't been stretched like that for a while, necessary stimulation. He pushed back against Erestor's rock hard cock instead of trying to escape, gasping in arousal when the invitation was followed immediately.

In seconds, they found their usual rhythm. Due to the shortage of time, a hasty one, one that left one two bruises from the table on Glorfindel's loins. One that carried him away enough to quickly reach orgasm, after just a few more strokes of Erestor's free hand of his reddened, sensitive cock.

After such a long wait, that kind of height was intense enough to take his partner along on the ride immediately. A feeling of heat and wetness inside of Glorfindel promptly followed that he'd seldom experienced and that wasn't always a welcome sensation. Tonight, it didn't leave him shivering only from reluctance though; on an evening of ever-growing coldness and of feeling so lost, that was alright.

Which was why he shook his head when Erestor backed away, still panting and trembling himself, and murmured a contrite apology. "Not for that. But I need clothes." As much as he appreciated such uncurbed passion from time to time, to distract himself from blood and death: His preferences didn't include gossip on the halls of Elrond's palace about him strolling out of the library half naked.

"Back in a minute." Erestor absently wiped the sweat off his face, his thoughts back with his work already, but at least no longer distracted from it. Turning away, he handed Glorfindel the robe he'd taken off so hastily, to cover himself up at least a little.

Wearing it was out of the question, for that, they were too differently built. Yet in spite of all their bickering, even after millennia, they harmonized well enough in many other ways. That was indeed calming on a day when so many things threatened to fall apart. It was time to concentrate on such strengths again instead of their differences.

"I mean it. Come along to the border if you so desperately want to. Just don't get yourself killed."

Erestor surprised him once more. "Not as long as it isn't absolutely necessary. That would only distract you because you don't trust my abilities. And the Lord will need me here in the next weeks and months. But thanks."

The weak grin Erestor shot him over his shoulder, actually made Glorfindel's cheeks flush with warmth. "And for _that_. Once we leave the shadow behind, no matter in which way … Then we should talk, Glorfindel. I have too many open ends in my life."

"Someday," Glorfindel nodded, though they both long knew it would never happen.


End file.
